


Death with Benefits

by TheEarlyKat



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence, Everyone is friends, Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, Justice is still as Kristoff, M/M, More Tags Coming Soon, No one yells at Merrill, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2018-12-01 09:12:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 23,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11483253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheEarlyKat/pseuds/TheEarlyKat
Summary: The exhaustion and headaches are part of the job description when healing the poor and downtrodden, but it doesn't mean that Anders enjoys them. Or does anything about them, much to his companions' distress. So when a new patient that seems to disappears before anyone but him can see it, Anders begins to wonder if he really is losing his mind.





	1. Chapter 1

"You need to take better care of yourself," Merrill said, punctuated with a tap of a popsicle stick again his nose." Anders opened his mouth to defend himself, and choked on his words as she took the chance to jab it into his mouth and press his tongue flat against his lower jaw. "I'm serious."

He swiped at her hand and ran his tongue against his teeth to get rid of the taste of wood, scrunching up his nose. "There's people here that need my attention more than myself."

"That's a load of bronto dung and you know it." Anders snorted and she whirled on his skepticism faster than he'd seen her stomp on a leaf blowing in an autumn wind. "What would be the point of the clinic if you got sick? You're all about making them feel well again, and how can you do that when you can't stay well yourself? How could anyone trust you as a healer?"

He shrugged, shying away from the truth in her words. There was little to back up his view on things other than his own conviction, but it was a difficult argument to voice. _Because he couldn't spare the time to_ , was flimsy at best, and crippling at best against Merrill's advice, built one solid word after another. "It's most likely just the cold that makes it rounds every year around this time," he said instead, eyes following the bob of Merrill's head as she listened. "A few patients have already begun to come in with complaints of the common symptoms - stuffed sinuses, sore chests, and coughs. It isn't as if I hadn't had my fair share of them, either. You might want to wash your hands after this."

"And you -" she struck out with the stick again, flinching back as his own saliva hit his cheek - "should go lay down. Or at least go to bed early. If you come back here saying you're not feeling well again I'll have you fire yourself." She flung the stick into the trash and folded her arms. 

Anders chuckled and slid off the cot she'd walked him to earlier and shook his head. "I'm not sure that's how the processes goes." Merrill puffed her cheeks and turned on her heel, ignoring the statement, to pester some unknowing soul. She was a fine assistant to his clinic, one of his better ones he supposed, but she could overhearing. With no family of hers to speak of, that anyone knew of, she'd taken it upon herself to call his clinic home. She clucked after everyone like a mother hen, fluffing pillows and fetching water to telling tales to children waiting for their parents and threatening others for being in the way of rest. And him, of course.

He certainly couldn't blame her. He had been excusing himself from his duties more often as a cold slowly worked its way through him. Yesterday was a headache that had him seeing stars until he lay down with a cloth over his eyes. Today had been dizziness and nausea, and he'd feared he'd get sick over a child as he set a broken finger. Tomorrow he could find himself unable to get out of bed, and it had pushed him into asking Merrill for his own check up. 

"Food and rest," he muttered under his breath. As if that wasn't what everyone in Darktown was seeking these days. The more refugees that wormed their ways into the harbor, the less food there was to go around, and the more time was spent working to get the money needed to pay for even the cheapest supplies in Lowtown. Food and rest would have done them all good - it wasn't just that he got any more than the rest of the people. Whatever points Merrill had against his thinking, he simply couldn't bring himself to follow up on it. Though, it would do little to help those sick if he exposed them to himself, but there was other work to be done. He could catch up on cleaning the corners he rarely got to, wash sheets, organize the supplies. It was a task more suited to a volunteer than himself, but Maker knew they were in short supply. If it didn't pay, it wasn't worth it. It would be worth his time, if he could make note of items that needed restocking. He could start a list and head up to the market when he was feeling better, or send someone for him if he wasn't. 

Merrill flashed him a look full of narrowed eyes and pursed lips as he finally made out of her office and across the main floor of his clinic. A small waiting room of roughly half a dozen broken chairs was pushed into one corner, while a series of beds tucked with patchwork sheets were shoved into another. Several sheets that had once been white, and turned brown from bodily fluids and dust, were stretched across what was left to make space for his, Merrill's, and Kristoff's 'offices.' They were nothing more than cramped, closed off sections, but they provided cover for those that sought privacy. They also made great areas for naps on the long nights when none of them felt able to return to their dwellings during crises.

He waved her off with a weak roll of his wrist, and slipped around his area towards the stacks of cabinets nearby that held any and all supplies his clinic had to offer. He was always short of bandages, but clean cloth was a miracle in Kirkwall proper, let alone it's under city. Pain relievers - elfroot and poppy seeds - were always the next to go, but finding the plants was hardly difficult for anyone brave enough to wander outside the city limits. Most were, to get away from the stench, and he was sure he could find some able body to bundle up a few for him if he couldn't go himself. The rest of the needed supplies were simple potions that needed nothing but time to make, and Anders closed the doors with a start, barely missing jamming his thumb between them when a hand settled firmly on his shoulder. 

"Kristoff! I, ah, didn't see you there."

The man, tall and broad, inspected him a set of piercing blue eyes that pinned Anders in place more than Merrill's had. 

"Merrill said you were ill again. Is your hearing going, too?"

Anders sighed out through his nose. "I'm sick, not old," he grumbled, and knocked Kristoff's hand away with a roll of his shoulder. He was related, somehow, to some noblewoman back in Fereldan. He'd been using his wealth to keep the clinic running, and while Anders appreciated the help, the exact delegation of the help was sometimes more of an annoyance. 

"Then you should be concerning yourself with resting, not working."

"That's a first, coming from you." Anders turned his back to securely shut the cabinets, checking them one by one, and avoided Kristoff's look. "You know what I mean. You have the same sort of ideals - just a different way of going about it. Why have an inexhaustible income whereas nobody here has ever seen anything but a copper all their lives? Why should I have a moment to sit and breathe when these people get even less than that? We can take our breather once we've righted these wrongs."

"There is a justice in that," Kristoff agreed, and Anders felt a more manageable space open up between them. He finally turned around again, leaning a hip against a cabinet to rub at his forehead. "While I care about the patients here and the work we are doing for them, I do not know them all. I know _you_ , and I care for you."

He chuckled. "You might want to try chocolates before starting with that line."

Kristoff huffed, the closest thing to a laugh Anders was going to get at the moment. It was a small victory, one that left another round of probing into his personal habits at bay, and would hopefully ease the ache beginning to build up behind his eyes. It wasn't something he couldn't push through, and he made use of the rest of his down time for the day by brewing the potions he'd started running low on. They were simple enough - just a bit of simmering herbs in water to make teas that would ease throats or settle stomaches. Merrill and Kristoff saw to the rest of the patients milling about the waiting corner, and the few left unseen were making their ways out with apologies and poultices matching their complaints. Anders watched them go, a frown forming on his face as he wondered how many would have been turned away if he hadn't worked so slowly, and his eyes lingered upon a man still propped up against the wall. 

He wasn't hard to see in the dim lighting, as the sun set and candlelight cast continuous shadows along the walls. His hair was white, a strange enough color as it was, but there were some few stories spoken of individuals with pale colorings and red eyes. Although, his seemed to be green, very green, and very focused on Anders in particular. 

Anders raised a brow and glanced behind him. There were no other lingering patients, and while Merrill still occupied the clinic, she was in her own office space cleaning up. This man was looking directly at him. 

"Can I help you?" Anders paused in his slow rise up from the chair as the man startled, his bent frame snapped suddenly straight, hands at his sides. His eyes darted to both sides of the room, widening on each pass, before resuming their stare at him. Anders felt heat rise to cheeks, as a mixture of embarrassment and curiosity welled in his stomach. "Are...you hurt? Do you need healing?"

"I don't..." The man trailed off, suddenly closing his mouth, lips stretched thin at his own words, and it was like nothing Anders had heard before. His voice was low, so low he could barely catch it, but with such a rough edge it was nearly impossible to not hear it cutting across the silence. He found himself straining to catch another word, but the man was gone when he came back to his senses. 

"Who were you talking to?" Anders knocked back the chair with how fast he bolted upright from his crouch. Merrill peered out from between her sheets, eyes round.

"My...myself." He rubbed at his temples, and mumbled under his breath, "I think." Maker, did he have to add hallucinations to his symptoms, too?


	2. Chapter 2

A ghost, Anders thought with a snort. Half the population of Darktown were nearly ones themselves, as thin and pale as they were. They shuffled slowly through the twisting, abandoned mine shafts as if mindless shades. They had no homes but for the nooks and crannies just deep enough to most of the rain off their heads, and no jobs aside from the dangerous work the residents of Kirkwall turned their noses up at. Even the children moved about with downcast eyes, shoulders hunched with the weight of realization. How many of the hundreds upon hundreds of refugess crawling within Kirkwall's underbelly be added to the lost souls from it's bloody history? 

A shiver went up his spine and he drew the musty blanket from his cot to wrap tight around his shoulders. Sleep would not come easily, whether or not he tried to lay down and shut his eyes. The image of the white-haired man followed him where we walked, and the thoughts of ghosts and hallucinations ran wild about his mind, leaving little space for the calm and silence he'd need for proper rest. He'd be unproductive in whatever he did, either spilling what potions he'd managed to brew earlier or chop a finger off cutting more, and he settled with simply sitting at one of the waiting corner's chairs. It creaked as his weight rested on it, and he swallowed around a rising cry of surprise.

Maker, what a mess he was - plagued by headaches and bouts of dizziness during the day, and insomnia at night. An endless cycle of destruction that had led him to lose his mind. If the man had been a figment of his exhausted mind in the first place. Anders leaned back in the chair, resting his head against the wall behind him and running a hand up to cheek to burrow in his bangs. The man had disappeared by the time he'd looked back at the door - a simple explanation as to why Merrill hadn't chanced to see him, but found Anders muttering to himself instead. That man had moved so fast, though, crossing the clinic floor and rounding the door, out of sight, in mere steps. 

Worry gnawed at his stomach like a starving dog. What would Merrill say when she found out about it? Or Kristoff? Would she finally find herself fed up with his antics and leave? Would Kristoff find a more capable healer to back? He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes until he saw stars, cursing his foolishness under his breath. 

"Foolish indeed."

Anders' eyes snapped open and the cold dread that had been seeping through his veins suddenly rush through him to turn his skin to ice. The arms of the chair frosted over as magic pounded hot and fast alongside his blood, before it melted in a rush of heat. He'd locked the door, hadn't he? He couldn't remember - Andrastre preserve him - what his actions had been until he'd found the clinic empty and quiet. Then, he should have at least heard someone enter if he hadn't locked the place up...

"Who's there?" There was a breath from somewhere to the right of him, and he jumped to his feet, arm swinging out in a fist to catch whoever was standing there. His fingers rushed through air thick with dust and spores, but found nothing else, and he pulled his arm back before he could crush his knuckles against the wall. He brought it close to his chest, rubbing warmth back into the hand as fear numbed his limbs and felt static spark against his skin. "I am...I am in no mood for games, such as they are," he warned, but he couldn't convince himself with the tremor he found in his voice. Let alone a ghost who's powers went unknown. Aside from possible invisibility. 

He tried to wave off his misgivings and moved from the chair, telling himself it wasn't because he was afraid to sit there any longer. His bed was calling to him whether or not actual sleep would come, was all. He pulled the curtains closed to give himself the illusion of privacy, and watched the ends flutter back into place after him, not sitting again until they settled out of their sway. When they ceased to move, and continued to remain still, he finally laid back, stretching his legs until they shook. If things progressed any further tomorrow, he'd finally step up and call himself out sick. He'd leave the clinic, perhaps rent a room at the Hanged Man for him alone, or ask to join Varric for a relaxing round of cards. He'd get himself a well-deserved handful of hours of rest, and come back good as new the next day, voices gone from his head. 

That plan was nearly instantly forgotten the moment he woke. 

It was a rush before he'd even opened the door. Merrill was unlocking them before Anders had finished tugging a new shirt on, skipping out on smoothing the wrinkles out. It would be a wasted effort when the crowd began pushing and shoving for the healer's attention. He'd likely have a new hole to patch by the end of the day. 

"I hope you don't mind I came early," Merrill said in lieu of an apology. Anders watched her eyes skip about the room, from the corner where the curtains were shoved back to reveal his rumpled sleeping space to the chair he'd knocked out of place when he'd all but launched himself out of it. He found a scattering of paper on the floor nearby and a spill of ink soaking into one of the pages as he scrutinized the room with her. She made a face and he raised his hands with a shrug. "I sent someone with news to Kristoff so he should be here soon. I didn't think work in the mines started this early, honestly. One of the older tunnels collapsed and before I heard about it, there were already some gathering here."

"The work there never stops," he told her. "Nor here, it seems." She gave him a small smile, and Anders moved out of the way of the entrance and let her guide the first of the patients in. While some looked at him with green eyes full of hope or painful tears, none were the same shade or paired with a shocking mess of white hair, and he bit his tongue when he caught himself looking for the man. He had work to do, and he couldn't be distracted. It didn't stop him from looking up from a wound whenever the door opened. A flash of disappointment always filled his stomach, while a following sense of reassurance soothed it away. The longer the time passed without sight of the man, the more firmly he believed he was finally regaining a hold on himself. 

Kristoff entered sometime later, when the initial influx of patients had trickled down to just the regulars that came daily for pain or the effects of old age. Anders glanced up from the cut he was currently patching up, deep but not long, and blinked hard at the flash of something that almost seemed to separate itself from the man as the doors closed behind Kirstoff. Without a word, the man ushered those still waiting towards his section of the clinic with a soft word. Anders didn't see him again until hours later, when there was no one left to be treated. Merrill was with him, one side of her short hair fluffed up with static as if she'd been sleeping. He pursed his lips to keep the smile off his face.

"An interesting morning," Kristoff said, finally greeting Anders with a clap on his back. 

"But not the most interesting, to be sure," Anders said. Kristoff nodded, eyes absently moving across the room much as Merrill's had earlier. "There was that time with the dragon."

Kristoff hummed his agreement and brought his attention back to the corner of the clinic. "You did not rest well?"

"I'm sorry?"

"The clinic - it's a mess."

Anders frowned. "We just had an emergency with one of the mines. I didn't expect any of us to be interested in cleaning up after ourselves until it was over. Aside from basic sanitation between patients, of course there would be a disaster left over." The chair he'd overturned had been righted to make more sitting space for waiting visitors. The sheet to his private quarters had been pulled back to conceal the tangle of bedsheets and bandages behind it. The pages Merrill had spotted strewn across the floor had been picked up despite their crumples - though Anders had a feeling their contents would be too much of a lost cause to mourn over anyway. Beyond that, the cabinet doors had been thrown open and the first row of potions had been spilled. A blanket was stained beneath them, catching their drippings. A cot was pushed out of place. The floor of hard-packed dirt had been scoured in one corner, as if someone had tried to dig through it. Here and there were little messes Kristoff had picked up that he hadn't.

"I...I didn't notice them." Frustration colored his voice and he bristled. When had they happened? Anders was always careful about locking the precious few potions there were in the cabinets and meticulous about the placements of his cots, memorizing them to ensure he'd never knock into one when blindly rushed from on end of the clinic in another in some desperate search for one thing or another. Yet, somehow, they'd missed his gaze. He ran a hand down his face. There was no real anger in his voice when he growled out a "I'll have this cleaned up." There was no energy left to be spared to be angry.

Kristoff caught him about the arm and put a halt to his march forward. "Perhaps it would do better to sit down."

Anders shot him a look. "Then what was the point of pointing it out to me?"

"To bring it to your attention." Of just how low you've fallen, went unspoken, Anders thought. He immediately squashed the idea. Kristoff cared for him, in his own way. This was one instance in which he was trying to get him to understand that Kristoff was concerned. 

Anders nodded and moved only after Kristoff let him go.


	3. Chapter 3

"It seems we have new regulars." Anders hoped his voice remained as light as he thought he made it while he inched towards Merrill. She was bent over a child no older than six, red faced from sunburn and tears. A splinter had worked its way deep into the meat of his palm, and tears welled wet and thick down his cheek as she slathered his hands in honey before picking at it with a set of tweezers. Her shoulders twitched at his voice but she kept her eyes focused on the splinter until she pulled it out with a swift yank. The boy's quiet sniffles erupted into a series of roaring yells. She soothed him with soft words and Anders gathered up a nearby cloth to wipe away the remaining honey.

Merrill brushed back the bangs that had fallen out of the intricate knot work of her bangs. "What were you saying?"

"Oh, ah, nothing of importance." Anders found himself still wiping clean the boy's hand and cleared his throat as he wound a thin bandage around the wound. He sent the boy off with a word to watch out for splinters next time and watched him jump off the cot to run for the door. "There seems to be a few more familiar faces now a days."

Besides the mother that wrapped her arms around the boy was a gang of several people he'd seen periodically over the past week. They'd first come the morning of the accident at the mines and had returned daily for checkups. All the injuries had been cleared up, but there were always more cropping out with such dangerous work. The light and atmosphere of the clinic helped, too, to calm down after a long day of digging. Behind even them, Anders saw, was the flash of white hair and dark skin again.

"Word of mouth goes a long way, doesn't it," Merrill asked, a laugh in her voice. "I'm glad to see them here whether it means they're hurt or not. If I see their face, it means they're still alive."

"I've never thought about it that way." She hadn't brought up the strange man, though. He did seem rather short. Perhaps Merrill simply couldn't see him over the crowd? Or couldn't see him at all. 

It was a maddening question. The man appeared and disappeared like a wisp - flashing into the clinic for a second before stepping out in the blink of an eye. Anders was sure the only reason he could see the man was because he was looking for such a person. In a crowd, he was innocuous - shorter than most and with a shock of hair - but just one more refugee in the swelling populations. None of the usual straggle of patients spoke about anyone new, and Kristoff hadn't said a word either. Not that Anders would ask him.

"Are you feeling alright?"

Anders sighed. This was why he had approached her first for any clues. Kristoff would have demanded an explanation the moment he seemed odd. There'd be no room for argument against his strong advice to sit. Merrill, however...

Merrill cocked her head and folded her hands neatly in front of her, waiting. Her eyes were sharp as they raked down his form, from his frowning mouth to his feet pointing just a toe out of line. Her lips remained pursed, tightly sealed against question or complaint she had against his appearance. He was grateful for the chance to think about the words he would answer her with. He was grateful she didn't speak for him or over him. 

"Better than some days," he finally admitted, flicking his tongue over his lips. There had been worse days, when he'd nearly fallen from exhaustion, limbs shaking until even the sturdiest ground beneath him could not keep him upright. Bouts of heat turned his skin slippery with sweat as fever took him on other nights. Both brought him the delirious visions of a ghost haunting his clinic. Lately there were no such sightings, and if there were, a deep breath and a sip of water did wonders to make it go away. If it also happened to lessen his headaches - all the better. "I should consider your advice more often."

She laughed, a flush making her swirling face tattoos striking against the red. "You really should. A little rest will do anyone wonders, right?"

"Don't give the secret out." Anders pressed a finger to his lips and felt himself smile. "Everyone will stop coming and we'll be out of a business." A joke, a lie, for there'd never be a shortage of work. Anders slid his gaze past her and exhaled deeply at the crowd gathering just inside the doors. There were new faces, to be sure, but none held the same mystery as the strange man. Ease settled somewhere low in chest close to his heart, warming him from the inside with every beat. "Let's get to work while we still can."

There wasn't much room for jokes when the day came to a close. Merrill's smile was a weak thing as she waved the last of her patients off and Kristoff's frown was a severe slash. He closed the doors with a firm hand and locked them quickly. There was a weariness Anders was unaccustomed to seeing in the man, and he trembled at the shadows beneath Kristoff's eyes and the sweat that made his forehead shine. Kristoff's sturdy gait and strong swing of his arms had been reduced to an unsteady limp, and he sat at the nearest cot, closing his eyes with a deep breath through his nose. The injuries of the day had been minor, but there'd been many. Fatigue came from the mental source, as similar case after similar case showed up at the threshold. Such minor wounds could easily have been fixed with careful examination of the working conditions for the refugees, and the frustration that came with the knowledge that nothing would be done to better them burned them out. Anders wished to lash out about the poor conditions and unfair treatment as any of the lowly folk, but the work he did was a silent sort of revenge. He'd never be allowed the outburst the people so justly deserved, not if he wanted to risk exposing himself and his workers to the same horrors as the average man. The hope that one day things would change didn't make the hold on his neck any less tight. 

Anders rubbed at his throat, scratching at the stubble he found there. "I'll put on tea."

"I'd rather take my leave of the day," Justice mumbled. He didn't move from the cot, but his eyes had opened and turned towards the door. Anders flicked his to Merrill. She twisted her tabard about her hands.

"I'd never turn down a drink, Anders, but I agree with Kristoff. Not that I don't mind the company. You're welcome to join me in the Alienage."

He smiled. "Another time. I think I understand your feelings tonight." He still put a pot of water atop a dancing flame after they left. He needed a hot cup of something, if only to hold, whether it was to be shared or not. He tossed in a handful of herbs - elfroot for the aches in his knees and embrium for the restlessness - and nearly threw a whole bag of clippings into the boiling water at the sound of a boot scuffing the ground. 

The doors were locked this time. Kristoff never forgot to slide the bolt closed, even if Merrill did. No one had been left in the clinic and - ah.

"Did you want some tea?" Green eyes peeked out from beneath a fringe of white hair, furrows burrowing deep in the space above his nose. He looked at Anders with a sneer sharp enough to cut the bemusement from his voice. In the empty space, nervousness took its place. "You can, ah, at least take a seat. If you'd like."

The hard look never passed from Anders as the man crossed the room to perch on the very edge of a cot. His feet were bare, and his toes dug deep in the dirt of the floor. Anders frowned. There'd been similar markings Kristoff had pointed out the other day. 

"I do have to ask you to leave if you don't want to share a drink. The clinic is closed until morning, and -" Anders paused as he found the spot on the cot empty, though the scratches in the floor remained. 

"I want nothing of the poison." Anders spun at the hiss in his ear, backing up quickly as the man reappeared behind him. Up this close he could track silvering lines swirling down his chin to spread across his neck in a similar fashion to Merrill's, but where hers were merely ink, these writhed with power. They sang, almost, soft and high in his ears and so so beautiful. Anders couldn't help but lean forward, closer to the music, despite the rage that radiated off the man. Elf. He shoved Anders back and Anders cried out at the coldness of the touch. "Do not presume to near me you - you abomination."

"Abomination?" His teeth clacked shut as he shivered. 

"What else would have the power to see me?" The elf shoved his face close, shoulders squared and jaw set. "What magics have you done that enables you to see me?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates might come a little slower in the following weeks. I'm in the process of moving, so I'm tying things up at work and home and still looking for a job in the new area!

Anders slapped himself - hard. What weakness he felt from the day's work was gone in an instant as the nerves from his forehead down to his neck lit with fire. The impact was enough to bring him low, doubling over and cradling his cheek as he gasped. It surprised the elf, even. Anders glanced up, tears in his eyes, to find him with raised brows and lips pressed into the shape of a small 'o'. 

_What have you done that enables you to see me?_ The hallucination wasn't a trick of his mind at all, but a trick of the world! Anders wanted to laugh, but it would do nothing to make him look more same, and a soft whimper escaped instead. What had he done? Little - and that was the root of the problem, wasn't it? He'd eaten too little, rested too little, slept too little. To the point where even the figments of his imagination were telling him they were figments of his imagination.

Anders swayed on his feet and flapped a hand gracelessly to his side to find the stronger support of the wall. "I'm a little afraid to ask what you mean, admittedly."

The man's scowl split into a deep scowl. Full lips peeled back to reveal rows of shiny white teeth, locked together tight as he ground his jaw. "I have, so far, found myself to be unseen by the masses. Yet solely you identify my presence. How is it possible?"

"I've got a sharp eye?" A giggle welled in his throat, stuck in the tightness of it, and he slapped his other hand across his mouth to stop it. The man's eyebrow twitched and Anders swallowed. "Why did you come here?"

"It was the most populated of this city."

"You don't know where you are?"

"I don't know who I am. I know only of where I was - and even that is little at best." Anders folded his hands in front of him and strained to keep his eyes firmly on the man's chin. They wanted to roam up and down his form, looking for any outward injury that could identify the cause of amnesia. It wasn't the worst case he'd seen, but any memory loss was troubling. "There was a man - a, a ritual - there was blood everywhere and I remember...nothing but pain before I was running."

His hands hands curled into fists. A gauntlet covered each finger in a jointed metal cone ending in a wicked point. The dark metal matched neatly with the form-fitting leotard beneath a shapely breastplate. The white edging flowed from each point as if the tattoos curving from them continued onto the man's body as well. Such color and design suggested Tevinter in origin, and the feathers poking out from the shoulders confirmed it. He must have been a slave. A Tevinter slave. Heavy news to break when it came from an - what had he been called again? Ah - an abomination. Anders rubbed at the bridge of his nose with a thumb. He was really humoring his insanities.

"So you ran here, instead," he asked with a sigh.

The heavy stare he recieved had him schooling his expression. "I ran...somewhere. I asked for help from the people, but I was ignored. I went unseen, presumable, since I was passed by despite my shouts with not even a look. There was no point in staying so I moved on. There was an...urging to turn myself in one direction. I followed it here and found myself invisible still. Save but on abomination."

Anders felt his mouth twist in some shape of a smile as the elf flushed. "It won't be hard to forget that, will it?"

He sneered. "I have not had a conversation with another being in..." He paused, flushing a deeper red. "In some time. You will forgive me if my repulsion is set aside."

"Repulsion aside, then," Anders chuckled, and was relieved to hear full sanity in the sound, "my name is Anders. You're in my clinic in Darktown, the depths of Kirkwall.

The elf cleared his throat, and Anders caught a glimpse of the skin on his fingers. They were designed with intricate tattoos of their own, too. "Fenris."

"So you remember your name?" Fenris shrugged. "Do you think you could remember to come by tomorrow? I can take a better look at you when I've slept and can see straight. Maybe there's an injury that's caused you to lose your memory. I can pry into a couple books to learn why you might be going unseen."

"I can do that much."

Fenris only stared at him, and Anders swung his hands at his sides. "This whould be the time where you leave. So that I can sleep and have time to research before you come barging in here again."

"I...of course." Fenris inclined his head, slightly, never taking his eyes off of Anders. Anders rolled his eyes. When the world straightened again, the clinic was empty save for him and a drafty corner. The door was firmly locked, not a board swinging free to suggest anyone had opened it. The few windows were shut, and those were unlikely escapes with the ocean just a short drop below. The dirt wasn't even scored where the elf had been standing.

He rubbed at his eyes and turned towards his bed. What an imagination he had, to come up with such a fleshed out character. Anders shook his head and sat on the corner of his cot, running the edge of the curtain between his fingers. Tevinter had all sorts of magic unknown. While most of the unsavory kinds were well hidden, well guarded, and done only under the cover of deep secrecy, it wasn't implausible there was one spell or another to turn someone invisible. Or at least one that made it feel like someone was invisible. Some plain clothes, a common face, and a soft voice were all that was needed to blend into a crowd and keep all manner of eyes away. A spell working with those factors could most likely have people tuning out their voice, too.

That was, assuming Fenris was real and was from Tevinter. 

He asked Kristoff in the morning. He needed a wake up call. Merrill would have supported him, and he'd been looking for it earlier, but things were becoming more murky. He didn't just need a hand to help pull him back to the surface. He needed a filter of light to break through the debris. 

Fenris hadn't been waiting outside the doors when he opened the clinic. There were few people, actually, loitering about in wait for the loud tumble that sounded the start of the clinic's hours. Kristoff was one among them with a loaf of bread in one hand and an elegantly scrawled letter from Merrill in the other - a notice that she'd be in late. An outbreak of fevers had taken over the alienage and rather than making the ill make their way to Darktown she'd opened her door to them instead and would be in when everyone was feeling better. 

Good, then. Anders would have time to speak to Kristoff alone. 

"I think I'm seeing things." Kristoff's attention was immediately off the packages of herbs he was folding. Anders picked up the twine he was using to bundle them up as a way to avoid to his eyes. He felt them still, hot on his face, and matching points of red fanned out on his cheeks. Kristoff didn't say a word, and Anders took a breath before filling in the silence with an explanation. "It's not templars, I'm sure of that. It might be Carta, just trying to scare me out of the deal Varric made with them. Though Maker knows why they'd suddenly drop free healing in favor of leaving me alone. There is just this man....he's been showing up lately to just stand by the doors. He doesn't ask for healing. He doesn't steal. When I try to approach him he vanishes." 

Best not to tell him too much, such as his name and his all but literal description of vanishing. 

"There are new refugees with every coming day," Kristoff started slowly. "All are mistrustful of the word 'help'. It only makes sense, then, that a newcomer would wish to make sure such offers come free of traps and catches."

Anders tied off the knot to the bundle and packing up another. He kicked a nearby box closer and sat himself down. "I'm concerned about the vanishing part." He twisted the twine about his finger more than make a knot. "I'm beginning to doubt he'd not even...there?" The flush deepened on his face, and he felt it crawl down his neck as Kristoff looked him over.

"You speak as if you're getting sick yourself."

"And if I am?"

Kristoff murmured something under his breath, thinking. "Merrill and I are more than capable of running the clinic for a day. If there is more trouble than we can handle, Lirene is close by. She would tell you in more words than I that it would be good for you to get out Darktown for a time."

Anders shook his head, a small smile crossing his face. "I can't do that, I-"

"No you cannot." Anders' looked up fast enough for his vision to blur. "You promised to help me."

Fenris stood at the entrance, arms crossed and nose wrinkled in the same sneer he'd worn the day previous. He unfolded them long enough to swing them curtly at his sides as he marched forward, shoulders hunched, to the table the pair worked at. Anders turned to watch Kristoff, and was startled by the question marring his face with a deep frown.

"Kristoff?"

"What are you looking at, Anders?"


	5. Chapter 5

"What are you looking at?" Kristoff repeated himself as if Anders hadn't heard him the first time. It could have been that he hadn't. He could have answered in any sort of gibberish that Kristoff couldn't understand, causing him to ask again. He couldn't trust his ears or his memory. Anders certainly couldn't trust his eyes. 

"Yes, Anders," Fenris muttered. "What do you see?"

Anders saw a frown so sharp it could cut the bread still waiting by the chairs in the front corner and eyes so bright with anger he was sure he would go blind if he kept looking into them. It was difficult to glance away. Dread was heavy in his gut, keeping him in place. If he took his eyes off of Fenris for just a second, would he be gone when he looked back? Would there just be empty space between himself and the clinic doors? Anders heard Kristoff inhale, a slow and patient sound, preparing to as for a third time.

"I...I see..." Kristoff, his face pale with worry. Sweat beaded on his forehead as the late morning’s heat settled within the undercity’s stagnant air. He saw Kristoff looking directly at him, deep furrows following the lines of his frown, his eyes darting from the door where Anders had been looking and back to his face. Anders saw that Kristoff couldn’t see Fenris standing no more than five feet from him.

Maker, Fenris hadn’t been kidding when he complained about his invisibility. Assuming, again, Fenris was more than just his imagination.

A laugh bubbled up in his throat and Anders clutched at his mouth as nausea followed on its heels. Kristoff snatched it away from his face and Anders found his skin stinging where his nails had buried sharp into his cheek. Kristoff yanked on his arm and drew his attention upward again. “You need to answer me, Anders. What are you seeing?”

“It’s…it’s a man. An elf.” His voice sounded faint to his ears. He felt faint – his blood pounded hard and fast just beneath the surface of his skin, and there was a high pitched ring somewhere between his ears. It was entirely possible it came from Fenris shouting at him. It made his head spin until he couldn’t tell the walls from the floor. Kristoff sounded so patient and gentle - it was unnerving. It was the tone of voice he used when addressing a distressed patient or worried parents, to help calm them with a air of detached comfort. It told him that Kristoff was more uncomfortable with the unfolding situation than he was prepared, and that he himself looked more crazy than he felt - and Anders felt very crazy describing Fenris when no one else could see him. “He’s by the table, at the corner.”

“Is he doing anything?”

Anders felt himself smiling as he glanced back at the corner, though he couldn't fathom the reason. It was almost reassuring to see Fenris stomp his foot hard into the dirt, as frustrated as he was with the amount of skepticism occurring. Fenris crossed his arms across his chest and pulled his shoulders forward, curling in on himself to make himself somehow both smaller and opposing. His dark skin was flushed from his forehead to his neck, and the deep shades of brown made the tattoos stand out like so many wisps of smoke. 

“He’s embarrassed.”

The scowl dropped from Fenris’ face long enough for him to bark out a laugh. “Only for your sake, abomination. I agonize over how much mistrust there is for you.” He jabbed a finger at Kristoff. “Convince that I am here. Have him help you in your endeavor to make my seen again.”

Anders flushed in turn, and he took his hand back to rub at his forehead. Kristoff let him go, in favor of reaching past him for a piece of parchment. Anders turned to watch him dig in the mess crowding the table for a quill and noted something in the corner. It was difficult to make out the scratched handwriting. "What did he say?"

He straightened. "You heard him?"

Kristoff frowned, deeper. "No, but I can assume such an answer was given a response, correct?"

"Ah, well, yes." He dragged his hand down his face. "Remember earlier, when I spoke of a patient that continued to disappear?" Kristoff paused before nodding, and pointed the tip of the quill in the corner Anders had directed his attention. "Yes, well, I think the cause is that no one can see him. He, Fenris, I mean, explained to me last night that he comes from Tevinter. He was in the...servitude of a magister. That magister did something to him, but he's lost his memories because of it. The only fact he does about the event is that ever since no one has been able to...see him."

"When did you close the clinic last night?" 

Another note went down on the parchment, right beneath the first one. Anders watched his hand crawl across the page, mouth opening but empty of words. The same cool edge lined Kristoff's words and it froze his tongue to the roof of his mouth. That was the extent of his diagnosis? A lack of sleep? Kristoff didn't believe him. Andraste's tits, he wouldn't have believed himself either, but this was him! They'd been working together for nearly three years now and no trust had been built between them in that time? Was there a difference in the trust of handing the clinic's responsibilities over and humoring their hallucinations? Hurt put a sour taste in his mouth, and he licked his lips. 

"What does the time matter? Why have you not fought harder to convince him? At this rate I will be forever under this curse," Fenris demanded.

Anders shrugged and tried to block the noise out. "The usual time...perhaps it was a little later. Because of..."

"Because of..." Justice waved the quill around, encouraging him to continue. Anders jerked his head towards the corner of the room and he nodded. "Is he still here?"

Not for long, Anders learned. The elf had turned hard on his heel and stood further towards the back of the clinic, fists clenched. One hit the wall. Anders heard the dull thud of the fist connected but the peeling paint chipped no further under the impact and no more dust was tossed into the air. 

"I'm not crazy."

The coldness melted from Kristoff's face in an instant. The hard press of his lines curved into a small smile, one that touched his eyes, watery with some emotion. Anders thought he spotted fear, but he didn't trust himself to pinpoint the reason. "I don't believe you are, either. Anders, I think Darktown gets to everyone after a fashion. Merrill does what she can to brighten up the place but it is no replacement for real sunshine and fresh air. Both Lirene and myself take on more of the clinic than you are comfortable with, without your direction, to ease the burden as we can, but we cannot stop you from overworking yourself. No, I don't think you crazy."

"But you don't think Fenris is real." That had Kristoff's frown back in place, and Anders cursed under his breath. "You can't see the Maker but you believe in him!"

Kristoff spread his hands out before him. "I confess that I don't know what I think. The Chantry has a strong will, a long arm, and a seemingly inexhaustible pool of resources - this makes it difficult to deny the existence of the Maker. You do not sleep or eat as often as you should, and this makes it difficult to determine if Fenris is real. Yet, I believe in you, Anders, and I will not say you are seeing nothing. I will say that I think you need some time away from the clinic. Varric would remind you that there is always a card game waiting for you, if you so desire."

"What? I gamble with Varric and my problems go away?"

"That is not what I'm saying, and you know it," Kristoff sighed, rubbing at his brows. "I am saying to go somewhere else for a time. Talk to people who are not your patients. Eat something."

"It will not make me go away," Fenris said. His head was turned to their conversation, ear twitching. "But, perhaps, with free time on your hands you will be able to learn more about my condition." 

"Varric does have spheres of influence. One might encompass Tevinter rituals..." Kristoff looked at him from under his hand and Anders laughed. "Ah, not, you - you might be right. Varric might be a good person to talk to."

A small, if unsteady, smile was hidden by the shadow of his hand as Kristoff heard Anders' agreement. "Tell him we will get together for cards, then." There was an unease on Kristoff's face that made Anders feel smug.


	6. Chapter 6

"Why did you not try harder? The man in your clinic did not believe in me. He did not even believe in you!" Fenris growled in Anders ear. He whirled around and narrowly missed knocking shoulders with a passing man, eyes widening when Fenris made no move to dart out of the way. The man passed right through the elf with no sign of trouble as he kept a glare trained on Anders. He ducked his head to avoid the worst of it. Fenris was not phased, instead rounding to his front. Anders watch him march in front, his heels kicking up none of the dust that covered every square of Lowtown. "There will be few chances in the future to determine the cause of my invisibility. I cannot afford to continue missing them."

"Do you expect every man capable of believing what they can't see?" Anders asked. It wasn't a betrayal that Kristoff had shown, but it had felt like one. He wasn't any common patient. He was...he was Anders. He was Kristoff's long-time friend. He was...tired, yes, he supposed. It had no correlation with seeing Fenris, though. Kristoff should have seen that. Hallucinations stemmed from all manner of injuries - bumps to the head, certain edibles, contaminated water. All of Kirkwall's water was welled straight from the bay, and Darktown's supply was notorious for being the worst of the worst. 

Fenris wasn't a hallucination. The elf was here, arguing with him, whether or not his feet stirred the ground they walked on. He'd have to watch Merrill's steps more closely to compare. 

"I expect all to be mistrustful of you, abomination. Some more than others. I did wonder whether those working closest to you would be careful of you or not, and now I have my answer. We cannot rely on them." He sneered. He was always sneering. Anders had half a mind to warn him his face might freeze that way. It would not be much of an improvement to look at.

"Varric should be more promising." Bitterness was a strong taste in his mouth, enough to taint his words. Fenris bared his teeth. "For a dwarf, he has a long reach. He's given me several books a mage could only find locked up in the deep corners of a Circle's library or tucked neatly away in some Tevinter university. I've gotten in contact with a variety of people will all sorts of knowlegde because of him. Letters, mostly, but the information has been good. If he can't find anything about turning you visible again...well, I'm not certain anyone can."

"Let us not hope he fails us, then."

Anders grinned, curling his lip just so to match Fenris' sour expression. A passing woman flinched at the face and Anders flushed, wiping it away with a drag of his hand. No one could see Fenris in front of him. No one could hear Fenris, either, apparently. He was just one more lunatic in a town of crazy. With a dash more lunacy. 

He hunched his shoulders, tucking his down against his chest the rest of the way to the Hanged Man. It was not a long walk, but the twisting road and sudden corners made it impossible to find a quick, direct route there. It made time for small talk, something Fenris turned out to be not accustomed to, and something Anders wouldn't humor him with. He didn't any more stares for holding a conversation with thin air than it already earned him. Varric would find out sooner or later about Fenris, though he hoped for the latter, when he could explain it to the dwarf himself. Any preconceived notions might elict the same reaction in him that it had for Kristoff. Anders would have a drink, play a round of cards, another drink if Isabela was there, and then bring it up. 

Isabela was, both regrettably and thankfully, there.

The Hanged Man was a loud place, and today was no exception. The miners and merchants of the town gathered aroun every table shoved against the walls, spilling drinks as they battled each other's voices to be heard. The door swung open with a loud complaint. In the far corner, a chair was thrown, and the bar keep yelled for compensation. Above it all was Isabela's laugh. 

She was leaning over the bar, one arm stretched as far as it could to swipe a pint waiting on the other side. Nora, the waitress, slapped her hand away. Isabela's grin never left her face, though it went from splitting her face into a mask of mischief to something sweet and inciting as she turned to the nearest man. She leaned forward further to press her chest against the lip of the bar to drag her shirt further down her cleavage. She whispered to him and he dropped a coin in her hand. Her laugh was victorious. 

Fenris' nose was wrinkled. It wasn't quite a sneer, but there was some sort of disgust following the curve of his lips that made Anders roll his eyes. He weaved his way through the mess of tables, leaving it up to Fenris to follow him or not.

"It's a bit early in the day to start swindling men of their hard earned coin," Anders chastised as he neared. He inspected the stool next to her for any sticky mess he'd regret sitting in later before joining her at the bar. 

Isabela flipped the coin in her hand with a fierce grin. "Any time men are around is a good time to be swindling." Her bright eyes looked him up an down and he turned his pockets inside out. No clink of coin sounded and he shrugged. 

"Spot me?"

"Sure thing, sweet. One moment." She hopped down from her sweat and moved on to another part of the pair, hips swaying as she walked. She dragged a hand across the shoulders of another man. 

At his side, Fenris snorted. 

"Your company fails to impress me."

"I'm not here to impress you," Anders said. 

"No, you are here to make me visible again. You say you have promising leads, and an untrusting friend and a whore are not promising options."

Anders went to shove him and remembered the way people just walked right through him. He crossed his arms instead. "Do you expect everyone to believe me when I attempt to explain an invisible elf is following me around because I am the only one with the ability to see and hear him? Or is it that you only think so lowly of my friends?" Fenris raised a brow and Anders tucked his hands tighter around himself, pulling his shoulders up. "Don't answer that. Just wait until she invites us up to Varric's room."

"I can invite you up to my room instead." Isabela returned with a drink in each end and a new hop to her step. Anders eyed her pockets warily, but none seemed much heavier than they had previously been. She tossed her head back with a laugh when she noticed his eyes and he shoved her away. She toppled into another stool. "What do you need Varric for? Can't sleep? Need him to tell you a bed time story?"

"Nothing quite like that." Fenris kicked a leg of the stool he sat in and he followed the jerk it sent him into by taking the drink from Isabela. He took a sip, making a face at the taste. The ale only worsened with time. "I need some information from him."

The playful smile was still on her face, but Isabela's spine had stiffened. A glutton for all things new - gold, men, gossip. "What kind of information?"

"It's...it's about a man."

Isabela cackled, and she relaxed again. She draped herself backwards against the bar, leanly loosely on her elbows. "Trying to find a new stick to shove up your ass?" 

He choked on his next drag, and not all of his coughing was from the second kick Fenris gave his seat. He shot a glare at him. "Also not like that."

"So it's a mage thing?"

"I...yes. It's a mage thing." That earned him a growl, but Isabela kept any more questions to herself. He wouldn't have to defend himself against Fenris if no one could hear him argue about his excuses. 

"Varric's drinks are better anyway," Isabela said with a sigh. She jumped off her seat and crooked a finger at him. "Coming?"

"My expectation are lowering with every 'friend'," Fenris muttered in his ear as Anders worked his way through the bar's floor after her. 

"Would you be saying that if they could hear you, I wonder?" Fenris paused and Anders passed by him, throwing his fist into the air where Fenris was. His skin went cold and a shiver ran up his arm. 

"What's that, sweet thing?"

"Ah, I just felt like someone was watching me."

Isabela nodded. "Kirkwall will do that to you. That's what the ale is for!" She raised her mug in one hand and shoved open a door with her other.

"- that was just as I was aiming Bianca. I had her pointed right between the beast's eyes, ready to let her go wild, when -" Varric looked up at the ruckus Isabela caused when she walked in. She kicked the door shut with her heel, hard, when Anders entered and collapsed on an empty sofa near the dwarf's desk. Her drink sloshed over the rim and onto her shirt, and she tabbed at the stains with a thumb. Varric welcomed her despite the interruption. "Stories - they bring people together."

"A man I knew once said the same thing about the Blight," Anders said, inviting himself to the other end of the couch.

Varric pressed a hand to his chest. "Are you saying something about my stories? What do you think, Hawke?"

The man was already in the room, lounging in one of the big chairs across from Varric's desk. Loot from whatever previous adventure he'd taken up was piled in his lap and sorted out on the desk before him. The dwarf must have been retelling the fight from his viewpoint. 

"I think Anders means that the best can come of disasters. Only your stories can somehow make the worst of our fights into something grand." Varric nearly flushed at that, and Hawke laughed. 

"No one will buy it if I try to say the Champion of Kirkwall was taken down by a plant."

"It had thorns," he defended through around another chuckle. Isabela made a comment about another recent fight along the Wounded Coast, and Anders took the chance to find Fenris. He had opted to stand, and it made him wonder if the elf could touch anything while he was invisible. People phased right through him, but he had yet to see if any object would as well. Still, the corner suited his brooding figure well. In the dark, chin tucked tight against his chest and hair falling in his eyes, it was if he was intentionally making himself unseen, rather than purposely. Hawke made no show of seeing him, and Varric hadn't mentioned a new face when he'd crossed into his room. 

"I guess this saves me the trouble of finding you all, too." Hawke's voice dragged him back away from the corner. "Aveline needs out help tomorrow. She has some bandits that need to be taken care of."

Isabela sat upright and bit her knuckles. "The sorts she isn't supposed to kill?" Hawke nodded and she grinned wide behind her hand. "I can't wait to get into their pants. They have the best loot," she added with a laugh when his brows wrinkled together.

"How about you, Anders? Are you up for it?" Hawke disengaged himself from whatever else Isabela would reel him with to look at him. 

He'd forgotten what he came to the bar to ask about until Hawke turned to him, and he sucked on his lower lip. Anders wished to speak to Varric, alone. A bandit raid wasn't the sort of company to ask delicate questions around, but neither was a bar full of eager ears. At least in the wilds it would be just the four of them.

Anders glanced back at Fenris. The elf's eyes were steady on him, bright with frustration, and he shrugged his shoulders. He watched lips pull back from teeth and decided it was only fair to annoy him further. It served him right for the talk he spat about the group he called friends. His opinion might even change when he saw their battle prowess. 

"I could use a trip to the Wounded Coast. I've been in need of resupplying potions."

"Tomorrow, then," and Hawke sipped at his mug like it was a toast.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which actual plot begins to happen

It was a slow enough day that Anders heard Hawke making his way through Darktown before he say him. Word spread fast in the Undercity, as it always did. It had to, if any of its residents were survive the trouble that plagued it. Hawke wasn't trouble per say, but he was a powerful force. His presence was both feared and revered, and he was both worthy of fear and respect depending on the day. Fear on the nights he intercepted templar raids, and respected on the days he came to care for the healer. Either was likely, and the whispers describing the sort of day started the moment Hawke set foot on the creaky elevators down.

News reached Anders within minutes to except a visitor. He'd given notice to Merrill and Kristoff that he'd be gone that afternoon, and neither were surprised when the old woman talking to keep her mind off the stitches going into her leg gave mention that her daughter spotted him by the new tunnels. Merrill assured him that they would be fine for a day. Kristoff was silent, but there was a knowing look in his eyes that made his accompanying smile frustrating. 

Kristoff wasn't right, or, at least he was resolved to make sure Kristoff stayed wrong. A day away from Darktown would solve nothing about his imaginary Fenris problem, as Fenris was everything but imaginary. So he was assuming. Anders wouldn't let Kristoff feel so victorious without results on that matter either.

Anders was talking inventory of some of the herbs and flowers he should snatch while he had the chance on the Wounded Coast when Hawke finally made it to the clinic. He didn't knock or make any noise to draw attention to himself, knowing that he'd be expected without it. He stepped inside and made himself comfortable on the chairs in the corner. 

"You could help." Anders didn't look up to acknowledge him.

"Last I checked, I was asking you for help." Anders certainly didn't turn around. He was trying to keep a frown on his face, and didn't need Hawke's cheeky grin messing it up for him. The eyes on his back grew more insistent, and he rose, hands on his hips. 

"A favor for a favor then?"

"I don't do anything with children or dogs."

"What about cats?" Hawke rolled his eyes skyward and pressed a finger to his lips - a mockery of thinking. Anders tossed an empty vial at him with a scoff. "Catnip. You can be in charge of collecting it."

Hawke caught it and laughed. "Don't leave Isabela and Varric out of the fun."

"I'm sure I can find something for them. I can show Isabela the fruit that makes the base of the potion for her itch so she can make it herself."

Hawke rolled the vial in his hand and winced. "I'm making an amendment to my statement. I don't do anything with children, dogs, or Isabela's private life."

"Maker, if it was just that to deal with I could live the life of a happy man."

Hawke shrugged. "Don't forget you always have that option. There's empty rooms atop empty rooms in the mansion, just waiting for someone to fill them up. I have enough gold now after the Deep Roads to support my own darkspawn army." It was a joke, and Anders took it as one as intended, but it didn't settle in his gut as light and bubbly as it was supposed to. It set the ever present feeling of guilt and smallness further down in his gut. It weighed heavy at the bottom of his stomach.

"Hawke, you know I can't accept that."

"The offer stands whether you accept it today, tomorrow, or the start of the next age. I know there's...circumstances."

A nice way of putting it, Anders supposed. There wasn't pity on Hawke's face, and Anders was grateful. Pity wouldn't have made it any easier, or difficult, to turn down the life of a soft mattress and a warm fire, fine foods for any time he was feeling the slightest bit peakish. Pity was for kicked dogs and wet rats, and he didn't believe himself to be either - even if Aveline called him a rat in the sewers on the occasion. There was hope, instead, that maybe he'd ease Hawke's worry just a bit by agreeing. Hope that he'd change the things were, and ease it even more. 

Mages weren't supposed to have soft mattresses, warm fires, or fine foods. Mages were meant for hard cots in stony towers with rationed meals. Maker forbid one received the nutrition to sustain one spell or another long enough to discover their true power. The knowledge could upset the delicate balance of the templars ruling them from above with their powers to instill paralyzing fear or debilitating pain. It was what he ran the clinic for - to show the public that mages could be just fine on their own. A high tower with no exits would do no one good, not the mages, who could use their powers to help, nor the common folk, who could benefit from the healing and labor work a mere breath of mana could do. It wasn't much, to turn the misconception of Chantry teachings around from the ground up, but a handful of years in Darktown had earned him a positive reputation and a solid base of protection should the templars come sniffing around. 

It wasn't enough, though, to reward himself with fancy surroundings. He had work to do, and it was in no way fair to encase himself in the pleasures no other mage could. Not until they all had the same choices as freed men. 

"It's enough to know I have the choice. Though, I don't believe I have one for _this._ " Anders collected what other half-empty bottles and jars he needed with the rest of his belongings and dropped them by Hawke's. The man had several bags, most of which were bulging with the tell tale shapes of half packed tents and sleeping gear. "It looks much more cozy than a plush bedroom."

"Only the best for my favorite healer."

"I'm only your healer," he scoffed, and helped Hawke with his things. 

Varric and Isabela were waiting just outside the clinic doors. Varric closed off the hidden path leading up to Hawke's basement with an unassuming stack of wooden planks, and Isabela pushed herself off the wall. The items in her possession were a pouch hanging off her hip and the daggers slipped through her belt. Varric clapped his hands together to free them of shavings and shouldered his own tent.

"Don't you think we don't know it," the dwarf grumbled. "We're going to put you to work today, Blondie."

Anders gave him a sideways smile. "We haven't even gotten outside yet and you're expecting the worst?"

"What can I say? I have a vivid imagination. Thinking of all those uphills is already getting these old legs tired."

"You're not that old," Isabela said. "You have plenty of beauty years left in you." She leaned down to pinch at him and Varric slapped her hand away. She danced out of his reach with a laugh. 

"Not if I have to keep climbing the entire Wounded Coast every weekend. How are you holding up, Blondie?"

"Still a better day than the clinic," he admitted, and Varric agreed with a lift of a shoulder. 

They reached the rickety elevator leading up to Lowtown and the closest path out of the city to the coast. Isabela made a comment to Hawke about yanking his crank as he lifted them up back up to the sunlight, and the resulting snort had Anders wondering just where Fenris had gotten himself to. The elf had been puttering about the clinic since he'd woken at the hesitant knock of the doors before making himself scarce without word. Since then, Anders hadn't seen hide nor hair of him. He didn't mind in the slightest, that Fenris had finally left him - for however long that was. A few days at most, then. No one could tell him that Anders was spending the day around the outskirts of the city, not when they couldn't see him sneaking through Darktown possibly cursing his name.

Unless, Kristoff had been right and the time with Hawke was enough to ease the stress of the clinic enough for his mind to heal from its ordeal. Fenris could have disappeared because he'd had time to himself. 

Except, Fenris had disappeared because he'd grown tired of waiting for Hawke to show up and went to find some other poor sod to put up with him for a handful of hours, leaving Anders to deal with his anger whenever he returned. He rubbed at the bridge of his nose, already experiencing the headache in the making. 

Hawke clapped a hand on his shoulder and he jumped. 

"Tired?"

Anders shook his off with a roll of his shoulders. "Something like that." Hawke didn't comment and Anders filled up the silence with elaboration. "The heat's starting to get to Darktown and the mold likes the temperature, you know. It's gotten thicker and half the people coming in are coughing from it and the other half are bleeding from a stabbing over water." He ran a hand through his hair, dragging the tie out of his hair to re-string it up as the breezes scattered between the high buildings strengthened as the obstacles faded the further out of Kirkwall they walked. Hawke nudged him in his exposed side, earning a squawk. 

"You'll have a couple of bandit skulls to knock together to get your frustrations out soon enough."

Anders rolled his eyes. "You mean I'll have a couple of skulls to put back together when the bandits knot you around."

"Or that, yes," Hawke laughed. 

Anders couldn't help the smile, small as it was, to cross his face. It faded when he spotted the pack of men in faded uniforms appeared in the bend in the road. In the center of them, was Fenris.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be the last update for a little bit as I won't have internet for about two weeks. I'm going to use the time to get as many chapters as I can done and refined for when I come back.

"Fenris!" 

Fenris' ears twitched in his direction before the elf himself moved to look in the direction of the sound. There was a brief moment of confusion as the bandits surrounding him remained still and unawares before Anders snapped his mouth shut so fast it made his teeth clack together. He gave the party a quick check out of the corner of his eye. Hawke was already on the move, his sword raised in a challenge he didn't yet utter. Varric was climbing a nearby rise to use Bianca at her best height, and Isabela was nowhere to be seen. She could be smelt, though, as powders and poultices were mixed to sting the eyes and burn the throats of any who dared to interrupt her dance with her daggers.

His relief was too long-lived. The bandits spotted Hawke before Anders finished letting go of his held breath and the barrier he encased the warrior in was nearly a second too late. Hawke flinched as the nearest bandit swung a knife in a wild arc at his forehead and the blade scratched off the surface of Anders' magic with a flash of blue sparks. Anders pivoted and threw another on Isabela before he forgot and rushed up the small incline to Varric. He dragged the butt of his staff in the dirt at the top, deep scores in the soil etching out a glyph of repulsion. 

"Hawke is really working out the muscles today, isn't he," Varric asked. Anders paused and raised a brow at the open question on the dwarf's face.

"I...no." Speaking, he found, was difficult, when he was already breathing hard. His face was flushed and he felt the skin warm further at the tease, and he cursed his pale skin. Varric grinned, but the edges still curled with bemusement. 

"Isabela's pretty flashy, too."

"When she wants to be." Anders finished up the array of glyphs and pushed another surge of mana into Hawke's and Isabela's shields. The magic flowed easy as his breath evened out and the previous panic rolled back to the usual background buzz of offhand paranoia. "Not really my type, though."

Varric made an interested sound and propped himself up on one knee. He pointed Biana at a bandit circling Isabela's flank and let the first arrow loose. It wedged itself deep in the meat of the man's calf. A warning to stay away from the pirate. "What is your type? Tall, dark, and raunchy?" Varric twisted to shoot a bandit between the legs that had been chasing Hawke halfway across the knoll. 

Anders made a face, nose scrunching. He leaned forward off his rest against his staff to send a shiver of magic through the earth. It knocked everyone off balance, but Isabela used it to scoot away from the main fight to collect herself in the safety of the shrubs while Hawke used to momentum to shove his current assailant to the dirt beneath him. With some amusement, Anders watched Fenris stumble and fall to one knee. Varric made another sound and Anders shot him a look. 

"What?"

"Into the other team, are you?"

"Can't live without one bandit or two in your life."

"Only the Chant could be more true," Varric agreed, with another arrow in the center of the fray.

Isabela flung herself back out of cover as well, and Anders let a rejuvenation spell dog her steps before downing a lyrium potion to rejuvenate him. She tore through the bandits attempting an escape from Hawke's sword in a whirlwind of daggers and spiked heel boots. Hawke took care of the rest, slicing them down as if he'd severed limbs all his life. It was a comparison that made Anders' insides twist, but reassurance kept the nausea down. There was no need to fear the man when Hawke was fighting for him. No, he got the full package of safety, security, and support all in one heavily muscled package.

Fenris, too, unwittingly. 

The fight was over not long after. Varric holstered Bianca behind his back to leave his hands free for looting. Isabela kept at least one knife of her to rip pockets free of coin and precious items as she joined him. Their heads were bent together as they worked, words whispered between them. Isabela cackled, once, and tossed a low lidded look at Hawke on occasion. Anders stumbled down the hill, tripping over himself in his haste to get to Fenris before he left. How had he managed his way to the Wounded Coast with such little memory? It may have been an accident that he exited Kirkwall and wandered out of the city, but had he given any thought on how he would return? He couldn't have asked anyone sharing the road for directions, or follow them if he had no clue if they were traveling the path he needed. Why hadn't he bothered to escape the bandits in the first place? It wasn't as if they could see him walk away, after all. 

At least he wasn't injured. So far, no passerby could touch him and certain items ran clear through him without any damage. The same must have gone for swords and daggers, as not a scratch was on the elf aside from the swirling tattoos and pink of the sun against his skin. He made a show of looking for herbs alongside the road and motioned for Fenris. 

"What took you so long," was the first thing Fenris snarled at him as he neared.

"Excuse me?" What was the elf presuming now?

"I waited for you to get here."

"Instead of waiting at the clinic where I was?" Anders rose and crossed his arms before remembering he was to be clipping seedlings. He knelt once more and glared at the dirt. 

"I was not at the clinic when I...woke, I suppose. I was out here."

"When you woke up?" Anders shoved his fist in the dirt for the realism. The soil was wet from the blood spilled only feet away, and he jerked away when Fenris shifted closer. There was a brightness in his eyes that reminded him of Isabela, but a focus on the clumpy dirt that was all his own. A shiver ran up his arm and he shook his hand free of dirt.

Fenris blinked and shook his head. "I spoke of an urge that brought me to our clinic when I had forgotten myself. It felt...the same. Smaller, if that makes some sense. It is like...when you walk by a street fast. You see something down there but you did not see it, and you think upon what it must have been, curious until you have to find out for yourself. There was something I had to see, something I did not know but I had to find out."

"They were bandits," Anders told him, and Fenris shook his head again.

"They were slavers."

"Are you done talking to the flowers, Blondie?"

Anders jumped at Varric's voice suddenly so close to his ear. He flinched away, thinking he'd fall into Fenris in the direction he was going, and flailed wildly when the elf did not make an appearance. He stood further down the path, where the rocks were piled high to edge the bend in the road. The sea spread out beyond it, the height of the cliff hidden by the make-shift wall. Fenris wasn't looking out the ocean, but beyond the corner. Hawke was there, almost following the direction of his gaze. Isabela called out something, but Anders couldn't hear over the buzz in his ears. He glanced at Varric. 

"These weren't Aveline's run of the mill cut-purses, were they?" Anders wasn't sure why he asked when he knew the answer. "Hawke's found a slaver den."

Varric whistled. "The flowers tell you that one?"

"Something like that." Anders rose to his full height and brushed his hands off on his robes. "We're going in, I assume?" He didn't need the answer for that, either. 

"It's never just a card game," Varric said. rolling a wrist to encourage Anders to move ahead of him.


	9. Chapter 9

Fenris was behaving strange - not that Anders had been noticing. He had been fervently trying not to notice. He walked like a crab, scuttling almost in an extended fashion, where he positioned himself low to the ground, one hand braced against the wall with the other clutched tight in a fist by his side, legs taking long, slow strides to stifle his movements. It was an...odd movement for someone could not be heard. The threat of danger was enough to eclipse his memory of the fact, Anders decided, and slid his gaze away from Fenris to watch the path of ahead him. He had to be cautious of any loose stones he might kick or sudden hollows in the walls that might hide any opponent - he could still be seen and heard. And stabbed. Anders grimaced and adjusted the grip on his staff.

His gaze moved back to Fenris. It was just so odd, especially compared to Hawke. They walked the same pace, but with such different gaits. Hawke had a purpose. There was a strength that bordered on naive prowess following the lines of his arms where clenched fists and tight shoulders brought the tenders closer to the surface. His steps landed firmly that told any hidden slavers of his approach, a final warning that he was coming for them. No one knew the layout or true depth of the caves, but Hawke looked down every turn with a full intent to cut down any who got in his way of finding the bandits' nest. Fenris had his ears flat against his head, nostrils flared, and Anders watched his stop mid-slink at a narrow crack in the tunnel. The elf shook.

Isabela gave a low, long whistle. "Appreciating the view," she asked, raising her brow at the impressive curve of Hawke's ass as he crouched low. Anders shut her up with a sharp hiss. Fenris had turned to face the crack with an intensity Anders didn't understand. He could feel no magic in the area aside from his own previous casting just outside the cave, and the only scents he picked up on were the dank and dirt usually found beneath the ground. 

"There is something this way," he said, to himself but in the silence of the caves Anders heard him. He repeated it to the group.

"I, ah, heard something. Coming from down there." He pointed the tip of his staff at the sharp turn. Light blossomed at the end as he called a wisp, and it circled once before bobbing to the entrance. Fenris flinched, hard, as it neared, snarling and swiping at the concentrated magic. It went tumbling down the path before steadying over a display of rickety holding cells and loosely gathered sleeping rolls. 

"Found them," Hawke said. He rose back to his full, impressive height, and drew his sword.

"Wait," Anders said. He stepped forward, baring the way with his staff. He saw Hawke shift, to send him a questioning look or some other form of displeasure, but he didn't dare to look away from Fenris as the elf passed beneath his staff to approach the camp. 

"We don't have the time to wait if there are people in there."

"I know that, I just..." Fenris passed the sleeping rolls, the lopsided tents, and the smoldering fire. He gave no second look at the wooden crates turned to cages or the manacales thrown nearby. He stopped towards the back of the cavern. Anders leaned on his toes to catch a glimpse of what caught his interest, but the shadows were thicker the further in and he didn't dare to let his mage light leave any further from his control. If there were any slavers within, they'd attack before any of them were ready to defend themselves.

"Then we're going in." Hawke shouldered his way past, knocking Anders back and Varric caught him from behind with a sturdy hand. 

"That's not like you, Blondie. I thought you'd want to break anyone free as soon as you saw the camp. And getting in Hawke's way? A dangerous move, there."

Anders flicked his gaze away from the dwarf and tried to keep it away from Fenris. "Caves make me...unpredictable. Grey Warden thing."

Varric hummed his thought on that answer and took a position just behind Hawke on his left. Anders followed closely after and gathered his magic to sling any assortment of spell the moment something moved. He ended up right besides Fenris, and he frowned. 

"What did you find?"

"Nothing but empty pockets and cold leads," Isabela sighed, a note of mourning in her voice. Anders tuned her out and waited for the elf to speak. 

"A girl. She was...here." Anders glanced at the ground by Fenris' feet and saw nothing of what he spoke of. The dirt showed no signs of scuffing if there had been a fight, or even a death. No clothing laid nearby. Even the cages were empty. "She's not anymore," he snorted, and looked up and back towards the entrance of the crack. Anders bristled and glared at the ground, forcing himself to see what Fenris could. "The true slavers are gone. The ones we fought were left behind to mask the trail. Whether they did a poor job of it is up to you - they died, but they also fought long enough to allow time for the slaver ships to leave the bay. Unless the pirate of yours has a boat, we cannot catch up to them."

"How do you know this?"

"Isabela has killed more pairs of trousers than she has bandits in search of their coin - that she'll lose anyway to me in Wicked Grace later," Varric answered, and Anders' frustration grew. 

"How many times must I explain that I do not understand how I know? That I just...know it," Fenris growled. "I am here because I felt a calling and I know of the slaver's escape because I feel a calling to this town's harbor. There is death nearby and I am pushed to find it. I do not find as much amusement out of this as you seem to be."

"I'm not," Anders snapped. 

"No one says you have to bet coin, Anders," Isabela sang. 

"It's not about that!"

"It's always about that," she said. 

Varric had finished looting his half of the cavern while Hawke searched the surrounding cave outside of the nest for any evidence of the bandits comings or goings. It was a fruitless search, and with Fenris' information he didn't need to see the hard line of the man's brow or his clenched, but empty, fists to learn he'd found nothing. They had solved Aveline's issue of the bandits, but it was all they had done. They hadn't gotten to the heart of the problem. They hadn't saved anyone, least of all those most in trouble - the ones in the slaver's clutches. For all of Fenris' 'pull' towards acts of hate and violence, nothing had come of it. Yet Isabela wanted coin. 

"Not about what?" Hawke asked. 

"I don't care for Isabela's findings! I care about finding the slavers. Could Aveline send the guards on a ship to chase after them?"

Hawke straightened from where he rested against the rock wall. "Why would we need Aveline to send out a ship?"

Anders tucked the hair spilling from the tie behind his ear. "The slavers used the bandits as a ruse to by them enough time to get to the harbor with their cargo." He wrinkled his nose at the word. No human life could be considered as something as lowly as a box of onions or the like. "They couldn't have gotten far outside of Kirkwall's harbor, not with how the Amaranthine Ocean is this time of season."

"How do you know the slavers took ship?"

"Fenris told-" Anders snapped his mouth shut and tasted blood on his tongue. Varric had his attention on him, and Isabela had dropped her current pair of trousers to look at him. "It's logical thinking for slavers, isn't it? They know their acts of cruelty are wrong and take the shortest route away from the crime, and leaving by boat is much quicker than attempting to run on land. They'd have to find a boat eventually to get anywhere in Tevinter anyway."

The longer he reasoned, the more likely they'd forget his slip, Anders hoped. He'd escaped the first time, just barely, when he mentioned Fenris, and his continuous glances at the elf were attributed to paranoia. Let them believe he was still nervous, about the cave, the dark, the bandits - let them believe he was crazy, as long as they forgot about Fenris. That was a sort of crazy he couldn't be forgiven. 

"The lyrium addled mage has a point, Hawke," Varric finally said. "Do you still have ties with Athenril or do I need to start putting my fingers in the water?"

"I can talk to her," he answered, not confidently. "I'll send word to Kirkwall, and catch up with her tomorrow. I think some rest would do us some good if we're chasing slavers tomorrow."


	10. Chapter 10

Having been a Grey Warden came with some perks. Anders wouldn't say they overshadowed the horrific reoccurring nightmares, insatiable hunger, and the large chunk of years cut off from his natural life span, but the speed in which he could build a tent was nice. As was his ability to read tells. He'd helped Varric set the tent the dwarf was to share with Isabela and moved on to help Hawke with theirs. There was a twist to Hawke's mouth and a line in his brow that Anders knew meant the man was thinking deeply about something - and seriously. It made Anders anxious, and he wanted the feeling resolved before anything more came of it. Particularly paranoia, and wounded was a close second. 

He didn't need to be a Warden, either, to know Varric was watching him every second his back was turned. He didn't need to be a Warden to know he whispers he shared with Isabela were about him, and he didn't need to be a Warden to know the glances between him and Hawke were not intended for Anders to see. He certainly didn't need to be a Grey Warden to know exactly why Hawke had called a halt on the march back to Kirkwall and it started with an Anders. He cursed all their names under his breath and Hawke's hands slipped along the knot he was tying. His racing thoughts and branching ideas made his fingers twitch and his hands clumsy enough that the rope ran through his fingers. Hawke made no move to catch it.

"Don't stop on my account," Anders groused. There was a growl he couldn't fully attribute to frustration at Hawke in his voice. "It hasn't given you nor Varric any pause, so why now?" He heard Varric mutter something behind him and the smug satisfaction he felt turned sour at the utterance. 

"You don't know what you're talking about," Hawke began, but Anders stopped him with a shake of his head. He kicked at the fallen bit of rope, childish, but the display did make him feel better. Anders heard Fenris snort and he had to struggle to reign in the glare he felt pulling him in the elf's direction. Fenris hadn't even offered to help with the tent - whether he could physically touch the rope did not excuse him of curtsey's. 

"Do tell, Hawke," he started, waving a hand over the tent before returning it back to his hip, "why we're setting up camp when Kirkwall is no more than a few hours walk from here. I'm not all caught up on the rules of slaver hunting, but I believe not one of them tells us to wait an entire night to go searching for them. We could be back in Kirkwall, at the docks, speaking to Aveline before night has truly fallen. I don't need the secrets you only share with Varric when you think I'm not listening to know you're talking about me." 

The mask Hawke wore fell apart with each point he gave to reveal the truth beneath. There was guilt in his eyes and a sort of resign in the slope of his shoulders as he sighed. Anders let the anger run out of him, and it left him cold. Hawke didn't deserve the aftermath of his confusion with Fenris, but he'd certainly started it. He crossed his arms, holding what heat that thought left him with close to his chest.

"We spoke to Aveline about the slavers before we left Kirkwall," Hawke finally supplied. Surprise still sparked his heart into beating a pace too fast, but not enough to startle him into accusing the man again. Some of it must have still shown on his face as Hawke raised his hands, palms out, placating. "I had some idea of what we were up against. Varric told me about of dealings down down at the docks, but the guard can't go around chasing rumors. Aveline asked me to look around and Varric found a source on the Wounded Coast. All Aveline did was increase the rotations along the docks."

"You still kept this from me. Why?"

Anders found Hawke more reluctant to answer, and he kicked at the rope again. Isabela was suddenly at his side, a hand on his arm.

"You know how Merrill likes to talk..."

That had Anders sputtering. He shook himself free of the pirate's hold to throw his hands up in exasperation. "When did you all start listening to Merrill? Was it only when I started to sound as outlandish as her?" He snorted. "Is that why you decided on a camping trip? To get me away from the clinic?" Hawke had the gall to look embarrassed. "Unbelievable. You're not my mother."

"No, we're not," Varric agreed, when Anders finally ran out of things to say and settled on pursing his lips to fume silently. He remained speechless, surprising even himself. "But we can still be concerned about you."

"I can look out for myself, you know." Isabela's hand tightened on his arm in a reassuring squeeze that did little to ease his nerves.

"It's not about that," Hawke said, at the same time Varric dared to speak, "It isn't obvious to Kristoff." Hawke shot him a look, one that sent Anders rolling his eyes. Hawke closed the distance between them and Anders made a show of refusing his offer of comfort for a moment. Only for a moment, and then his hands were in Hawke's and he was following the slight tug of them as Hawke pulled him flush. 

"It's not about that; all of Darktown knows you can take care of yourself," Hawke repeated. "Darktown also knows how well you don't. Merrill and Kristoff especially. And since you won't ever come up to the mansion," he continued, his voice rising higher even as he trailed off. Anders watched him pick up the forgotten rope and tug. The lopsided tent rose up to its full height with a snap and Hawke smoothed out the edges. "I thought to take the mansion to you."

Anders eyed the tent. "Don't tell me you brought all those pillows and blankets from your bed."

"I didn't bring all those pillows and blankets from my bed," Hawke obeyed, even as a grin spread across his face. "Varric did." Hawke let him go just in time for one of the said pillows to be tossed at him, and Anders ducked away before it could hit him. Hawke caught it, and snatched another one out of the air with his other hand. "Help me set up the bed rolls."

It wasn't a request, and Anders didn't treat it as one. He sighed, resigned to the fate of sleeping on the plush blankets from Hawke's place, and slipped into the tent to rearrange them. With no true threat of the slavers escaping now, he no longer had a choice but to accept the situation. He was still within him limits to deny Hawke all of the comforts simply out of spite, and Anders shoved most of the pillows from his side of the tent, taking only one for his head and snatching one of the most degraded blankets to wrap around his shoulders. It was enough to quiet any complaint from Hawke, and he couldn't help the smile that moved to chase after his happiness. 

Anders didn't want to cause Hawke any distress. He didn't want Hawke to think he was ungrateful, he realized, and was amazed that Hawke had thought enough of him to do something like this for him. The burst of anger came from the fact that nearly everyone had gone behind his back. He couldn't blame Merrill and her bleeding heart to let something loose, but he had hoped Kristoff would keep the concerns of the clinic to himself. Varric was behind the scenes in any situation, but Hawke...Hawke had lied to him.

"I am still seeing nothing to change my opinion on your companions."

Fenris' sudden appearance had him startling, and Anders tripped on his way out of the tent only to tangled himself further inside the blankets. The elf was watching Hawke move to Varric's tent to collect the rest of his things, eyes narrowed. Anders wondered if Fenris could read his mind. 

"I admit I can respect them for their fortitude and prowess in battle, but little else where you are concerned."

Anders rolled his eyes. "Thanks."

"For?" Hawke asked, coming back with another armload of pillows. He shouldered his way inside and moved carefully to a small hole in the tent's corner. He plugged it up with one of the pillows Anders had refused. 

"For...this, I suppose. I'm sorry I lashed out like that." Anders glanced at Fenris before clearing his throat. "I probably looked like a madman." Fenris rolled his eyes.

"It's to be expected," Hawke said, shrugging his shoulders. "From what Merrill told us and what we could wrestle from Kristoff, it sounds like there's been some trouble in the clinic."

Anders rolled one shoulder. "The usual, honestly. The number of injuries keeps rising as the mine owners push for one last effort before the weather closes them for the season. I'm waiting for the day a templar slips in with the crowd, pretending to be a patient in disguise," he laughed. "It makes it a little hard to sleep some nights."

"The mansion-"

"Is always available. I know," Anders finished. He sat up, resting on his knees and placed his hand over Hawke's. Hawke flushed and took his hand back to finish laying out his bedroll. Anders watched him smooth out the uneven ground with a layer of pillows to keep his eyes off of Fenris crouched just outside the entrance of the tent. smoothing out the rocky floor by layering pillows across it. "For now, I'll have to settle for the imitation."

"It's definitely not as good as the real thing," Hawke said, sitting back himself to admire his work and lifting his eyes at Anders. "At least think about it some more?"

Anders gave in without any more argument. Hawke hadn't meant to hurt him. Anders had turned down every offer of help Hawke had given him, and hiding his ulterior motive had been the only thing he must have thought have to get Anders some time away. He had to admit, it did work. "I can do that. Thank you, again."

Hawke grinned at the almost acceptance and pat his knee before wiggling his way out of the tent. It was a bit of a tight fit - made tighter by Fenris when he scrambled out of Hawke's path. Anders instinctually flinched away from the incoming elf, both cursing himself when he twisted an ankle and the idiocy of it as Fenris couldn't be touched. He watched Hawke pause to shudder in the same space Fenris had previously been standing, frowning. 

"I'm going to get a fire started," Hawke said, distant. He shook his head a moment later and rose to his feet.

Anders' frown deepened and he held out a hand towards Fenris. The elf's lips pulled back, teeth showing, and Anders wondered if Fenris would bite him. He gave no warning, vocal or otherwise, and he took it as a thin truce, easily breakable. Goosebumps broke out along his skin, crawling up from his wrist to his elbow to follow the shiver than ran up his arm. His fingernails colored blue.

"You're freezing." Fenris scoffed, as if the fact should have been obvious, and Anders chucked a pillow at him. It passed through Fenris with enough resistance to made him scowl, and Anders thought the effort worth it. "You won't be sleeping here, if you'll be like that all night. If all this hub-bub is for me, than I intend to be warm for the first time in who knows how long."

"I will be sleeping here," Fenris stated. There was a confidence that rebuked no resistance.

"I'm sorry?"

"No, I am sorry. For your lack of forthought. Did you expect me to spend the night outside? While we have both learned I cannot be touched by physical weapons, there is little evidence as to what the elements could do to me. I also will not stray far from where I can see you, abomination."

Anders threw another pillow, sucking in a breath when it rolled outside the tent. He glared at Fenris. It was going to be a long night.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might be the last chapter for a little bit. Where I moved to also happens to be smack dab where the giant monster of a hurricane is coming, so we'll see what happens. There certainly won't be power for awhile and with getting everything together I certainly haven't had time to write anything substantial after this.
> 
> I'll be on my tumblr (exalted-plains) giving updates when I can of how things are going. Stay safe, everyone!

The skirmish with the covering bandits had been short and easily won, but any strenuous activity could be taxing. Varric had spun only two tales over a brief dinner of roasted rabbit before his voice faded into a tired excuse, and Isabela had followed him to their tent not long after. He could feel the day's fight heavy in his limbs. Whether he would sleep or not, he found no reason to move from his spot in the tent. The pillows, as few as he'd taken, were comfortable and the thick blankets Hawke supplied were a easy weight he didn't mind laying under. It was, in every degree, the time to get a perfect night's sleep, and Anders thought it no surprise that he found himself awake while the rest of the companions took the advantage.

Certainly where Fenris was concerned. 

The elf was folded in an odd position, fit between the limits of the tent and the stretch of Anders' feet. Anders could feel the cold of him slowly attacking his bare toes, and not for the first time that night he wondered if Fenris didn't sustain himself on another's body heat rather than food. It was for the first time that he wondered if Fenris had partaken in dinner, but it was a mystery he didn't mind leaving to be swept back into the mix of his already raging thoughts - just one more question to be answered when he returned to Kirkwall and could talk to Varric without restraint. If he bothered to concern himself with the elf at all after he froze his feet off. Fenris had done nothing but spit at his company and pick at his attempts to help, as if Fenris had another mage to turn to for help when Anders tired of putting up with him.

Anders drew his knees up to his chest to kick the elf away, and found the space just under him suddenly empty. The cold was still there, and Anders squeaked at the lower temperature, but the elf was not. Anders lifted his head from the pillows just high enough to catch a glimpse of Fenris, and unfortunately just high enough to pinch the muscles of his neck. 

"Mage..."

He flinched fully upright and the frustrated complaint on his tongue left him with a breathless gasp.

Anders found bright green eyes staring into the night - greener than they were in the daytime, when the sun could reflect the tiniest hint of brown on the edges. In the dark, they glowed, like some ominous wisps called from the funnier parts of the Fade. They were trained straight at him, and Anders felt a cold in his chest that had little to do with the elf's severe lack of body heat. 

"Whassit?" 

Hawke half raised a hand towards his sword laying somewhere at his side before it fell back onto his stomach. A moment later, he blinked his eyes - normal, non-glowing, human eyes, thought glassy with sleep - at him. Fenris flicked his eyes at the waking man, and the sudden movement unnerved Anders into flinching again. He scooted himself backwards until his spine pressed against the walls of the tent. 

"Nothing, sorry, for waking you. Go back to sleep," he said, too quickly, because Hawke made an attempt to sit up. Anders blanched.

"If it's about today," Hawke started, and never finished around the yawn that interrupted him. Anders eased back into the warm spot he'd made in the blankets and pillows, hoping to hide his face and bumping his knee against Hawke's in the process. He did it again to get the man's attention.

"We talked about that already, Hawke. There's no need to bring it up. Or any reason to keep yourself up." Anders hoped the desperation coloring his voice and his face was gone as he looked down his nose at Hawke. "Go back to sleep. I'll join you soon." Hawke met his gaze, for all his slow blinking and puffy eyes, before rolling onto his side and borrowing half his face in the pillows once more. Anders waited for his breath to even out into the slow, rough pattern of sleep, before raising his brows at Fenris.

"Is this is a part of you plan as well? To make me a fool at every opportunity?"

"No, but it is an amusing perk." Anders bared his teeth and the elf matched him with a grin. "You should keep your threats to yourself least you wake him again. Or the others in this camp."

"The Maker is testing me with this curse."

"With the curse of your magic, yes," Fenris answered, which Anders found as no answer at all. "This curse of invisibility is not yours to be bared. Yet...you've made it yours and I believe it could be broken." The smile had fallen from his face, and his gaze had followed the tug of his mouth down, eyes downcast and flickering unsteadily in the dim light cast upon them. 

"Don't thank me yet." Anders folded his arms and tucked his legs beneath him. His attention lingered on Hawke's sleeping form a moment longer to reassure himself the man wouldn't wake from their conversation, and frowned when Fenris spat.

"I wasn't going to," Fenris snapped. "I was going to thank you for taking out the bandits, but I take my growing optimism for you and your companions back."

Anders sputtered and coughed into his hand to cover the sound. Hawke rolled further into the pillow and Anders relaxed only when he stilled again. "What do you mean you were going to thank me for the bandits? Was it because we saved you?" 

He couldn't see in the dark, not like Fenris and other elves, but he sat forward nonetheless in a futile attempt to watch the frustration on Fenris's face harden into hate. Deep shadows, darker than the ones already in gloom, marred Fenris' skin and made the white of his tattoos nearly glow. The swirled, delicate and dainty from his chin down to the collar of his tunic and further if the lines following the veins along his arms were all part of the same system of lyrium. They were beautiful despite the terrible purpose of rendering Fenris memoryless and invisible, accentuating the power and grace of the muscles beneath them. Muscles that were very tight with determination, strength, and a flinch away from using it on Anders. He hoped, belatedly, the flush he saw running down Fenris' skin was out of embarrassment rather than anger.

"I was in no danger," he said, words and breath tight as he spoke through clenched teeth. "We have both come to realize that I cannot be touched and the threat of a blade is as dangerous to me as it is to a cloud. If I were to thank you, it would be for ridding this world of one more slaver. You, this man Hawke, and the others that follow."

"I thought you hated them all," Anders said, and he couldn't keep the light, almost singing note out of his voice. He hadn't wanted to tease Fenris, but the fury it earned him was hot with more than just anger. It made his skin crawl in a way that was not altogether unpleasant. The conversation, just between the two of them, made him feel almost human. No confused looks were tossed his way as he spoke to the open air, no worried glances were traded behind his back. The insanity of it was refreshing, and if Fenris could find his amusement in making look the fool around company, Anders found it only reasonable he found his in in their absence. The wavering sneer on Fenris' face did make him grin wider. 

"I don't recall saying I hated the people you surround yourself with. I do recall saying they were foolish for doing it, idiotic, and untrustworthy. I still think them mad for keeping an abomination in their company, but if they are the sort of people to go after slavers...they may be something more."

Anders rolled his eyes. "I can't tell whether you say that to insult me further or to if that's your way of complimenting others and should be grateful."

"Be grateful - that I have yet to rip your tongue from your mouth. Not everything is about you."

"It should be," he grumbled. "As far as you know it, I am the only person who can see or hear you. Keep complimenting me like that and you can go right ahead to find another poor sod to annoy. Hopefully back in Tevinter."

"I will not go back!" There had always been an edge of anger in the elf's voice, and it cut deep into his words. The cause was hidden from Anders as Fenris shoved himself further into the shadows of the tent, drawing himself up to be small and hidden. Scared, almost, and Anders felt a tension in his brow grow the longer he stared at the elf's darker outline. "I will not!"

His eyes flashed, so bright Anders thought the tattoos on his chin had too. Anders drew upon the magic gathering, and his arm knocked into Hawke when electricity danced along his skin. He swore and tugged the blankets around himself.

"I thought you said you would sleep," Hawke grumbled, his words slurred together.

"I was. I just woke up..." Anders cleared his throat and struggled to keep his eyes and thoughts away from Fenris. Lying was hard enough without the truth right in front of his face, and fear still made his voice waver. He rolled a wrist absently to grab a hold of a convincing lie that had little to do with an invisible, glowing elf. "It's the dark and the...the nightmares."

Hawke was silent, and Anders hoped he hadn't seen through to the truth behind the anxiety in his voice. It was difficult to read his expression, to look for a clue, but he thought he caught a hint of a blush dusting his cheeks.

"You could hold my hand." Hawke's smile was a little thing, and it lessened a fraction more when Anders snorted, more from relief than the absurdity of the idea. He stretched a hand out and Hawke met him halfway to squeeze his fingers gently. From his corner of the tent, Fenris huffed and Anders saw him roll onto his side and tuck his head in in the bundle of blankets. Their previous conversation was over, it seemed.

Anders circled his thumb over Hawke's knuckles and the fingers in his grasp twitched before tensing. Hawke cleared his throat. "Better?"

"More than you'd believe. Thank you," Anders added, glancing at Fenris and rubbing his thumb along Hawke's palm again.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of a short chapter, and a little less edited but I wanted to prove that I'm still working on this. The next chapter is already in the process, so hopefully it won't take as long.

Birdsong greeted the rising sun and eased the world into a slow wakefulness. Anders preferred it to the worried chatter of patients outside the clinic doors to warn him of another busy day, thought he wouldn't admit it out loud. On the cliff overlooking the ocean, alone, he was free to take a deep breath of air thick with only the scent of salt and decay. The lack of ash and smoke raining down from Kirkwall's foundry was another thing he found to his liking; with Aveline keeping watch of the docks, there was no rush to get back to it. Anders took another breath, his shoulders rolling easily with the motion, and sighed. Kristoff had been right after all.

It was a realization that made him guilty in several senses of the word. Guilty that he left his patients without one of their doctors because he hadn't been able to take care of himself. Of course, Kirstoff and Merril were more than capable of handling the clinic without him, he had no doubt. It was that, after any extended period of time, the overwhelming numbers and understocked supplies in even the most experienced hands could go only so far without the help of his magic. Guilty that, despite knowing so, Anders would have made the choice again and again to venture out to the Wounded Coast with Hawke. It wasn't for the fact that it proved Fenris real or Kristoff right. Guilty that Kristoff was only about taking better care of himself. He didn't deserve the frustration Anders held towards him about it.

"Good morning, sunshine," Varric said, and his appearance was a welcome distraction from his looping thoughts. That was, until Anders spotted a grin on the dwarf's face too large for Anders to believe it was entirely innocent. He crossed his arms. Varric swept away the grass sticking to his knees after climbing the rest of the way out of tent. "Don't be giving me that sour apostate look so early in the morning, it'll ruin the sunrise for me. You were looking fine just a minute ago."

Anders felt his lips pull even further down his face and he pressed his elbows closer to his sides rather than drop his arms altogether. 

"That was a compliment," Varric laughed, and he joined Anders on the cliff's overhang. Anders remained resolutely silent. Just because Kristoff was right didn't mean he had to like it. "The cold shoulder, is it?"

"It's not." Anders dug his heel into the sand and resisted the urge to cross his arms again. He clutched at the fabric of his robes instead. "I'm not entirely upset. I understand what you did for me, and I appreciate it, truly, but why take the long way about it? Would it have been so difficult to ask me?"

"Yes," Varric answered, and the speed at which he did made Anders' cheeks sting. He cupped a hand to his face and muttered a word into it. The dwarf chuckled and clapped him on the lower back. "We all know you wouldn't have come out of that clinic of yours of your own volition. After all, this was Kristoff's idea, and you know how he is. He approves of deceit in the same way deer approve of arrows. If he was asking us to do it that way, we had to take it seriously."

Anders blinked. "He asked you to lie to me?"

Varric rolled his wrist in a vague gesture. "He said it was better if we didn't express concern outright...and Hawke filled in the rest."

Anders rubbed at his face to hide a smile creeping across his face. "Of course he did." There would me more to thank Kristoff for when he returned to Kirkwall. For all but kicking him from the clinic and for keeping any mention of Fenris from the others. Not that Anders had done anything to help Kristoff with his actions yesterday. He half expected Varric to ask him about their relationship as of late, or of his behavior at the least. So much for guilt, then.

Varric was silent for a moment, and it left Anders wondering if Varric was thinking the same thing. "Did something happen between the two of you?"

Anders bit his cheek to keep a curse from escaping. After a beat, he answered, "Not exactly."

"I'm all ears." There was more interest in his voice than Anders liked. There had to be parchment in one of the dwarf's pockets.

"About that...well, not about this, but there has been something I've been meaning to talk to you about, but," Anders drew in a breath and motioned to the cliff. "There hasn't been a good a time, lately."

"I know what you mean," Varric said, nodding, and Anders watched him turn. Hawke was rising from his slumber like the bear of a man he was. His mass of dark hair was mused every which way by time spent buried in a mound of pillows, and there was more on his chest that was in need of a good wash. He was slow to wake, rubbing hard at his nose and blinking his eyes wide. He grinned when he spotted the pair.

"You look better," Hawke said.

Anders rolled his eyes and Varric prodded him in the side with an elbow.

"We'll have plenty of time to catch up when we're back, Blondie," Varric said, lifting a hand in parting. Anders nodded, and Varric passed on a, "Don't ruin all our hard work," to Hawke as the man took the dwarf's place. He fideted and Anders was content to let him stand in silence if it meant another look at the view - only the Maker knew when he'd allowed himself a break like this again.

"Last night..." Hawke let the rest of his sentence catch in the wind. 

"What was that?" Anders turned away from the ocean, slow and reluctant. It wasn't likely he would have much longer to immerse himself in the view if Hawke still wanted to talk about yesterday. 

"I just wanted to...apologize. Again." He shrugged. "I heard you talking with Varric, about what we did, and even after it all our plan didn't even work."

Anders startled himself with a laugh. "What do you mean it didn't work? I'm away from the clinic. I'm not struggling to keep a child still or setting broken bones. I'm by the ocean, breathing easy, with you." Without Fenris, too, Anders noted. He didn't want to think too much into it. Kristoff was already too right, and even with his promise to thank him, Anders didn't want him to feel too smug about it.

Hawke flushed, caught off guard himself. "I don't suppose a thanks is in order, then?"

Anders laughed again, more controlled. "Thank you. I mean that."

Hawke's flush spread to his neck. "And I don't suppose you'd think to stay here a bit longer?"

"I'm still crazy," Anders answered with a shake of his head, and it wasn't an outright lie he told. Hawke answered him with another shrug, and when he smiled it didn't have the same brightness to it. Anders didn't find himself worrying if Hawke thought he was hiding something like he had before. He also found that it wasn't entirely awful to tell the truth. 

"We should be heading back," Hawke agreed. "We'll need to catch up with Aveline and learn if she's found anything about those slavers."

"And the clinic. I...I need to apologize to Kristoff. I was terrible to you, and worse to him. I need to thank him, too, with the reminder that I'm a grown apostate who can take care of himself." Hawke snorted and Anders kicked a rock over the edge of the cliff. "The sooner we head back, the sooner all of this can be put behind us." The sooner it could be solved, as well, and Anders kept his gaze steady before him rather than look around the camp for Varric of Fenris. He didn't need Hawke to pester the dwarf about their promise to meet later, and he certainly didn't need Fenris showing up unexpected and unwanted to ruin what progress he'd made with everyone. Except, Anders found that Fenris made it a habit to show up unexpectedly and unwanted for that sole reason. 

The lack of any such entrance sent a chill down his spine and he shivered. 

Hawke held a hand out before him, palm up. "It is getting a bit chilly, too. We can make it back to Kirkwall before the weather changes if we start heading out now."

Anders motioned for Hawke to start, and Hawke gave the message to Varric and Isabela while Anders broke down the tent. Varric finished cleaning up before he did.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to take a mini-haitus. Maybe a month or two just to catch up on chapters. I was able to post often because I had a queue of two or three behind each update, but I've been struggling to write one within a week. I'm going to take some time to build up on chapters, and remember where I want to go with this story again. 
> 
> For now, a cliff hanger!

Dread crept up on Anders much like the shadow cast by Kirkwall's Chantry. It was hidden by other, more immediate thoughts, like the elfroot that clung desperately to the soil. It all but begged Anders to relieve it of its predestined battle. Tal-Vashok and bandits and their habits of lingering in wind-carved alcoves kept him on his toes. Towering above even the highest cliff was Kirkwall, hidden by the foundaries' smog until the very moment Anders passed beneath the city gates. The heat and oppression was a door of it's own and more difficult to pass through, and it pressed heavy against his chest.

He hadn't seen Fenris at all during the hike back from the Coast. Anders would have grateful, only a short while ago, to have his mind to himself. Bantering with Hawke, when given the time, would be an easy way to pass the time without any chance of a mistaking slipping past his lips. That was, before he'd come to expect the snark, the scoffs, the snorts, following his every word. Before Fenris had thanked him.

Anders dipped his head against the glare of the sun until the shadows of the Chantry covered his eyes for him. 

Dusk settled over Hightown's mansion, first, turning Hawke's estate a rosy pink color, and flowed secondly down the steps to fill in Lowton's twisted and broken streets. Anders matched Varric's an Isabela's steps to the Hanged Man, where the shadows were deeper between the towering shipment buildings stacked on one side and crumbling hoverls of its workers situated on the other. Neither said a long goodbye, for which all were thankful. Isabela was halfway out of her boots when Varric slapped Anders on the back with a hope for luck, and the strength behind it was small. Anders kept his feet and stayed only long enough to watch the door swing shut on rusty hinges. He twisted his hands in the fabric of his robes and turned for his own home.

Shadows had yet to slip down the stairs to the Undercity. The lift's crank was hot in his hand from the still burning sun, and he raised a hand to shield his eyes from it before it blinded him against the dim of Darktown. Dim - not dark, despite its name. There were cracks in the walls and holes in the upper supports that let in light the light falling onto Kirkwall proper. Fires burned constant, small in the corners were family groups marked their territory, and larger in the crossroads for anyone to use. Blinking insects took shelter in crumbling walls and rotting wooden beams, and eyes from starving dogs and wary cats glinted underfoot. A green lantern, swinging with every sweep of the doors it hung over. Anders snuffed it out with a sweep of his hand and shoved open the clinic's door with his other.

"Anders!" Merrill was a light of her own, with her watery green eyes and a pink flush across her cheeks. She brightened, further, at his presence at the door and he couldn't help matching her smile with a smaller one of his own. "How was your trip? I already heard about most of it from Aveline when I took the long way back to the alienage through the docks so I don't really need to hear all of it but I thought it nice to ask. Did the bandits give you too much trouble? Was it difficult to take your mind off things?"

A patient or two puttered about the clinic as the day wound down, and Merrill chattered idly as she wrapped up the left over bandages to be used tomorrow. She paused for breath when she finished and stuffed them into a cabinet by the cot. Kristoff was quiet, but asked just as many questions with every twitch of his eyebrows and the lines forming around his mouth. Anders felt his eyes on him as he moved to his own cot. He forced himself to unpack, to do something to keep his back turned. There was a tension that only he could feel, and it pulled his shoulders high and made his fingers clumsy. Anders dropped a wrinkled tunic onto the sheets and let it unfold itself. 

"It wasn't much of anything," he answered after a time. "It was a group of bandits, much as the same as any group - they rushed in with enough noise to wake a dragon, but ran the moment Hawke pulled blades from his pockets rather than coin." The apology he'd come to give had yet to roll of his tongue, and Anders fumbled for further words. "You said you spoke to Aveline? Then I'm sure you know about the slavers at the docks they were covering for."

"But how did it go, Anders?" Merrill asked.

Kristoff was still silent, but there was a squeak from his corner of the room and a shift of fabric. He'd sat and found himself a comfortable position to wait. Anders cursed him. It wasn't as easy as he'd believed.

"It was a...it was a fine night. I...Kristoff, I wanted to apologize. I thought less of you when you acted on my behalf when you were only trying to help.

"I'll accept if it did help."

"It did. I wanted to thank you, for that, too." Apology accepted, the unease wavered before it finally broke, and Anders found it easier to face Kristoff despite the heavy weight of his gaze. He turned and leaned against the cot, and found Kristoff had turned his attention elsewhere. Behind him was a final patient, oddly silent, oddly still, and oddly interested in Anders. "Oh."

"Anders?"

He flicked his eyes down to Kristoff. "Nothing, sorry. I suppose...I just realized what this was about all over again. Just...thank you. I'll try to be more open to these sort of things in the future."

In the corner, Fenris made an exasperated sound.

The sight of the elf in the clinic sent more relief through Anders than he cared to admit, and it did a second time when both Kristoff and Merrill went about closing the clinic. He sat on his own before his weakened knees did it for him. To dispel any of Kristoff's worries and his own paranoia, he spoke up again. "I do want to bring up how you went about explaining this to Hawke."

"Ah..." It was Kristoff's turn to turn his back, and Anders felt satisfaction alongside shame.

Merrill giggled and lifted a hand to cover her mouth. The edges of her lips sneaked past her fingers. Satisfaction, then, won out, and Anders found a similar expression crossing his face, weak as it was. "I think it's about time for me to get back, before it gets to dark, right?"

Kristoff was quick agree with a nod. Merrill's smile grew and Anders waved her off. "Of course. Have a safe walk." He didn't speak again until she was climbing the crooked steps up to the stalls further into Darktown proper and closed the doors with a solid clack of the locks tumbling together. He drew in a breath, and a muscle in Kristoff's jaw twitched. They both expected a further conversation, then. Anders wasted no more time. "You didn't tell Hawke about...him." 

Kristoff's neck tensed and it took him a moment to nod. "You were uncomfortable discussing it with me, and believed you would say nothing to Hawke. I didn't want to share that with him if you wouldn't.

"Thank you."

Kristoff raised his gaze above his head, and Anders looked in the corner where Fenris truly was. "It's still here."

Spoken as a statement, and not a question, but Anders felt compelled to answer with something. "He, actually. His name is Fenris."

"Fenris," Kristoff repeated. 

A shiver crawled down Anders' spine, and in the corner, Fenris rolled his shoulders in some sort of discomfort. "He's real."

"Or just not born out of exhaustion," Kristoff said. Anders caught an edge of steel in his words, whether to strengthen his own belief in his words or to cut Anders' down. 

"This will get us nowhere," Fenris said, in between them, and Anders cut him off with a shake of his head. He'd only just apologize and the original argument was already rising to the surface. He wouldn't let himself be the one to walk away first the time.

"He's real. I see him whether I'm in the clinic or out on the Coast, whether I've spent the night away or slept like a good little healer. He needs help, Kristoff, and that's what we do. I'm going to help him." 

"Do not, Anders," Kristoff said, rising to his feet in one, quick motion that made Anders flinched. Kristoff smoothed out the anger on his face, but kept the steel in his voice. "Do not pay attention to that thing."

Anders rose with him, conviction in his stance even as doubt made his head swim. Fenris speaking over him did nothing to clear his head, and he blurted out what thought he could grasp. It was difficult to say why Kristoff wouldn't help someone in need, and even more as to why he'd be angry about it. Unless... "What do you know about Fenris?"

Kristoff pursed his lips, and glanced away to the same spot Fenris was standing. Anders opened his mouth and Kristoff quickly looked away. "I don't know anything. That is what makes this dangerous."


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for being patient through the mini-hiatus! I have a couple of chapters ready for the month of Novemeber that will probably result in another short break. I'll be doing NaNoWriMo with an Inquisition re-telling with my Inquisitor, Fahleon, and won't have the time do do any new chapters of of DwB until after.

"It is about time we found ourselves here," Fenris said. Anders glanced over his shoulder to frown at the elf before shouldering his way inside the Hanged Man. It was quiet in the main room of the pub, but there was evidence of recent use - several tables were shoved up against the far wall, one chair was tipped over, and a round of mugs sat, empty, atop the bar Croff was furiously scrubbing at. Anders nodded to the barkeep and made his way across the room. His shoes squelched with every ale-covered step. Fenris' ears twitched at the noise, and Anders turned sharply on his heel for a final, loud, wet pop. 

"I've been busy," Anders said, once out of earshot from Corff and before Fenris could throw any further insult at him. He'd heard enough of them on the short walk to Lowtown, and not all of them from Fenris; Anders had a few choice words for himself, too. The clinic hadn't been any busier than usual - a few cases of a cold, several more cases of broken or sprained bones, only one case of choke damp and a smattering of stabbings had made for a lively, but relatively, unexciting few days - but Anders had made sure he always kept busy. Whether it was checking the stocks, washing bandages and linens, or writing and rewriting his manifesto, he always found some reason to avoid Kristoff while making it seem like he wasn't. Anders didn't want to get into another argument, but he was sure anything Kristoff brought up would circle the conversation back to his imaginary friend. His solution, then, was to act like it wouldn't happen. If he worked, Anders saw no reason for Kristoff to have any issue with him. Whether or not he'd fallen back into the habit of working himself too much was just another conversation he didn't want to have.

It made him go stir crazy in the clinic. There was only so much room to move in before he bumped into Kristoff, and so much to do before he had to ask someone for help. Fenris mentioned on more than one, or two or even three, accounts that his own problems had yet to be solved. Anders had tidied up his corner of clinic and left after, heading straight to the pub to do just that.

"Hm," was all Fenris said, unimpressed with his lie. 

"Yes, well," Anders said as he sat himself in a chair seated close to the wall and crossed his arms, unimpressed with his tone. There was no door to Varric's expansive room in the Hanged Man, but there was a sharp turn atop the short flight of stairs leading to the pub's rented rooms that used the wall as a form of privacy. It forced him to listen for the sounds of footsteps climbing up from the corner he hid in, knees pressed against the central table, to know when to quiet another argument from Fenris.

The elf pursed his lips, and Anders considered it a win on his part.

"This is a first." Anders let himself slink down the chair's back until his chin poked uncomfortably into his chest, his face tucked low enough into the nest of feathers lining the neck of his robes to hide his reddening cheeks. He'd been caught. Varric's footfalls turned soft when wooden floor boards were traded for thick rugs in the main room. "Not that I love a visit from my favorite sewer mage, but I never usually get a voluntary visit. Did Hawke drag you here for another bowl of stew?"

"No," Anders said quickly, keenly aware of Fenris in the room and more than a little embarrassed that Varric had brought up Hawke in the elf's presence after their shared night on the Wounded Coast. It had been a good idea at the time, Anders thought, to rile Fenris up with a display to match the frustrations Fenris gave him. Now, after, it was nothing more than goading Hawke on. He couldn't fault the man, or Varric either for picking up on the man's particular attention towards him - anyone with a sense of sight could notice it. Anders knew, with only some confidence, that he was charming and handsome somewhere under all the dirt and blood, but his focus was more on the clinic and the people there than any romantic pursuits. Fenris, too, not that he'd admit it aloud to the elf, whether or not it was fun to tease him silently. 

Anders cleared his throat, loud, to avoid that thought, and didn't look Varric in the face when the dwarf rounded the table to sit in the chair at his place at the far end. Instead, he watched the way Fenris jumped slightly at the noise, a similar sort of unease affecting him, too. They had a mutual understanding of something, at least, then. "I wouldn't consider the food here stew, either," he added, into his feathers, hoping to sound a bit less uncomfortable than he felt.

"Food is food, especially when it's coming out of my pocket." Varric spread his hands, palm up, on the table. "Tell Varric here what's on your mind. You didn't come here for the food or to ease Hawke's concerns - Isabela didn't ask you here, did she?"

Anders shook his head within the collar of his robe and wrinkled his nose. He wished to keep any topics away from the clinic, if he could. "No, Isabela liked the attention she gets when she's treated in the public of my clinic." He made a face. "Or, more likely, she likes how uncomfortable it makes me. So, no, she didn't ask." 

"Why do you insist on wasting time like this?" Fenris asked. "Get on with it. Ask him for what we came here for."

Anders muttered under his breath. "Maybe somebody likes talking to his friends. But you probably don't know anything about that."

Varric had poured himself a mug of ale from a pitcher on his desk, and he paused with it raised. "What was that?"

Anders grimaced. He couldn't very well tell Varric Fenris asked him to come - even if he had. Days ago, before the trip with Hawke to the Wounded Coast. Of course, Kristoff's mention of Varric had given Anders the idea to ask him for information. Varric was as ruthless an investigator as he was an impressive cheat at Wicked Grace - and he was a very impressive cheat. He learned the art of finding tells along the line of watching out for small details and snippets of conversation to lead him to something more substantial. His information went both ways, and with his fingers in every part of the city, Varric had nearly every faction in his pockets. If there was a man in Kirkwall to seek out truth, it was Varric. And Fenris needed the truth. 

Anders pulled himself up in the chair in a proper sitting manner. "I wanted to ask if you could finding something out for me." 

Varric sighed through his nose, a thoughtful noise, and eyed him with a critical look. Anders shifted in the chair and felt very aware of his legs for the first time. He moved them until he tucked them under the seat, ankles crossed over each other. After another minute stewing under Varric's stare, the dwarf relented with a slap of his hands against the table's surface.

"Back to the grindstone so soon?"

Anders let out a breath he'd been holding and saw even Fenris slump with a passing wave of relief. It was almost comforting to know he wasn't the only one worried about getting information. Or caught for trying to ask. 

"There's always work to be done in the city that never quiets."

"To the city that never quiets," Varric agreed with a raise of a mug of ale. "What sort of work are we looking at today, Blondie? You need your supplies filled? Or," he asked, leaning forward and steepling his fingers in front of his mouth, "is it some rumors from the Gallows that you're looking for?"

Anders turned his gaze away from Fenris to avoid his narrowing eyes. "Neither, actually," he answered, hesitant. Varric raised his brows and Anders cleared his throat before shuffling forward in his chair. He leaned forward, too, to lower his voice and still allow the dwarf to hear him. "I need a book on rituals that could turn someone invisible."

Varric pursed his lips. "That's a little specific." There was a question beneath it, one that Anders didn't have an answer prepared for. When he remained quiet, Varric waved it off. "I'll see what I can dig up. I can't make any promises, though."

"It's all I can ask of you. I'll be doing a little searching on my own, when I can." Anders smiled, and was surprised at how genuine it felt. 

It didn't last long when Fenris snorted. "We should get started, then. Before you grow 'busy' again."

Anders was getting better at not rising to the bait - immediately, that was. He parted with Varric with a promise to return when either found any news and glared are the space Fenris occupied when he was safely out of view from the dwarf. 

"You should be more grateful, you know. I have other things to do besides babysit you." Anders winced after hearing the frustration in his voice. His anger at Kristoff and embarrassment with Varric leaked into his words to make them harsh. Fenris made no sound but the way he worked his jaw, silently, spoke volumes. Anders raised his hands. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-"

"What would you have done, mage?" he hissed. "If no one could see you, do you not think you would latch onto the one person that makes you real? Do you think I enjoy this? Spending my every hour with another harboring the same power that put this curse on me? You are not babysitting me, I am babysitting you. To make sure you do nothing that could worsen my situation. But, yes, call the times where I had to suffer your actions my fault."

Anders clenched his jaw. "I was trying to apologize."

"Nothing but empty words," Fenris growled. 

Anders through his hands up. "Just when I thought you were tolerable for once!"

Fenris' lip curled. "As was I."


End file.
